


Disturbia

by Yoruhime



Series: Disturbia [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Incest, M/M, Magic, Rejection, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, Violence, Werewolf Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-10 01:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 98,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoruhime/pseuds/Yoruhime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is not meant to be Alpha. Probably not even Second. He doesn't care.<br/>Because he has something else.<br/>The others say he's a freak. But, in the words of Peter, he rather sees himself as...special. Besides, who gives a shit what others say, anyway? Certainly not them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!  
> New on AO3 and new on the fandom. But this idea was running in my head since forever so...Here I am! The interactions between Peter and Derek always fascinated me on the show (not to mention that they're both hot as hell^^). And the whole "Peter knows about magic and how to use it (ritual, anyone?)" thing opened a whole lot of possibilites.
> 
> Before starting, I'd like to make two things clear (had problems with it in others stories):  
> 1\. English is NOT my native langage (it's french). I actively encourage criticism, it's how you become better, but please, please, in a polite way.  
> 2\. Again, please, heed the tags: this is going to be a story about nephew/uncle relationship, wich means incest AND homosexuality. Don't flame me for it, ok? You don't like it, you don't read it. Point.  
> 3\. That said...I don't bite (ha!) so don't hesitate to rewiew.
> 
> I will follow headcanon at first, but since two major elements of the story don't happen in the series, it can be seen as AU.  
> Good read!

Derek smells blood and sheer terror and is up and running before he even hears the desesperate cry. _Mary_.

While ducking branches and jumping over obstacles, letting his sense of smell guide him, he thinks. Every possible scenario runs in his head, every single thing that coud have gone wrong. Dammit, why did his father let Mary and John go in the forest alone? His two younger siblings were humans. The potential dangers were numerous: falls, attacks by predators...not that much predators risked entering on werewolf territory anyway, but still...

He had tried to talk to his father about it, but the older wolf had been adamant that it was a necessary experience for them. _« They need to learn how to go by without a werewolf at thier heels, Derek. They can't become dependant on the Pack for protection. Besides, they know the surroundings perfectly well »_.

Derek actually didn't disagree on a theoretical level: being Pack meant family in every sense, but it often meant danger as well. Every member, human or not, had to become self-reliant. He understood it perfectly. Where he _had_ a problem, though, was when this motto was applied to two thirteen-years old.

Which had lead him to follow the two youngs from a distance, just to be sure that they were alright, even if it meant going againt his Alpha wishes. He hadn't intended to intervene in any way, just observe. Until now.

The voice had been Mary's, which meant the problem probably lay at John's feet. Not that it was surprinsing, mind you. Derek's mother, Thalia, used to describe John as _« a wolf in sprit if not in body »_ , and she was right. The kid didn't fear anything or anyone, always loud-mouthed, arrogant and certain he was right the way only a thirteen year old could be.

It sometimes lead him into rather nasty situations, like the one time he managed to insult Logan, the Alpha of the Callen Pack that was passing through. The resulting mess was amusing to remember now, but at the time, it had been an absolute bitch to deal with. But generally speaking, John usually inflicted his problems on others, created annoyance at best and a gnawing envy to hit him at worst, but it wasn't serious. Not real trouble.

Except the horror he'd heard in Mary's scream said otherwise. She was usally so calm and collected. To make her sound like that...And the smell of blood is becoming more and more pronounced the closer he's getting.

He quickly takes in his surroundings: he is heading in the direction of Great Cliffs, the highest and more steep cliffs of the area. And the most rickety. What the fuck are they doing here? It's dangerous, the even-the-werewolves-don't-come-here kind of dangerous. And _fuck_ , it smells of so much blood...

He pounces noiselessly in the in the clearing, half-wolfed out, ready to fight if necessary, but his nose didn't deceive him. There are only him, Mary, who is crying and clawing at her arms in despair, her eyes fixed on...Oh God. Derek isn't particulary sensitive to the sight of blood or gruesome scenes but that is...John is lying on the rocks under the cliff, his body twisted in a impossible way, blood splattered everywhere around him. 

But that isn't the worse. The worst of it is that he's still alive. After such a fall, every bone in his body broken, some even piercing the skin but he...Derek grits his teeth to hold the nausea back and forces himself to move. Maybe, just maybe, the Bite can still save him if Derek manages to get him to his Father. Quickly. _Very_ quickly. 

He realises how quick he needs to be when he crouches down besisdes his little brother, whose breathing has turned into a half-wheezing, half-coughing gurgle. His lungs are most certainly pierced in several places, and his spine is probably in pieces. At this point, Derek considers, moving John means possibly killing him. 

Which means there is only one way left. He'd always through he would hesitate if the need arose. That he would think of himself, maybe be too scared of the consequences to do it...In the end, he doesn't even hesitate.

He turns to Mary, who didn't even seem to register his presence, her eyes glued on her brother's body. Derek grabs her chin and force her to look up. She starles badly, but the hope surges on her face when she recognises him, and she clings to his arm desperatly. "Derek..., "she pants, half-choked by tears, "Derek, you..."

He cuts across her words, because they don't have time. "Listen. I'm going to take John to father, okay? What I'm going to do, it'll seem weird to you, but all you need to know is that it'll allow me to bring him over there faster. Alright?"

She nods bravely, and he smiles at her. "I'm leaving you here because I can't take two when I...do what I'm going to do. I'm going to call the others, you wait here for them. _Don't_ move, are we clear?"

She nods once more but she seems lost and afraid. Derek wishes he had more time to reassure her, but each second he spends here is a second John can't afford. So he smiles at her again, as soothing as possible, and gently extract his arm from her white-knuckled grip. Then he leaps to John's side, catches his arm. He takes two seconds to howl, calling out to whoever member of the Pack is the closest from his position, letting the urgency color his voice. 

And he closes his eyes, concentrate on the idea of home. And _pushes_. The last thing he hears is Mary's scream of fear.

# 


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter, rather long and quickly updated. A rare feat coming from me, so...Enjoy!

When Derek opens his eyes, he immediatly wishes he hadn't. Everything is tilting and rolling, and generally moving in a very innatural way. Even his own head and troughts seem to be twisting in knots along with his stomach.

Well...This answers that. He had never tried to cover such a distance before. And he's not going to try again soon. But, hang on...why did he try in the first place? There was a reason, no? Yeah, an important reason...

He forces himself to bypass his headache and turns his head. He blinks. _Whoa...that's John, no? Shit, he's really in bad shape. Maybe I sould do something..._ But the considerations seem to be coming from very far, all fuzzy and weak. And John is far, at last three meters. And he's tired, and cold, and queasy...And he's going to back out soon. He feels it. Good. He won't feel so sick when he'll be inconscious. It'll be great. Really.

 _But if you faint_ , reasons a part of him, _John is going to die_. For a second he doesn't even process the trought. Who cares? He's _tired_.He closes his eyes, staggers dangerously on his knees...

The violent impact of his shoulder with the ground makes adrenalin flow his system, suddenly whipping in his blood and throwing him in a state of full alert. His troughts right themselves and his senses sharpen anew. And that's when he notice it: even with a werewolf hearing, he can bearly hear his brother heartbeat. Shit.

 _Shit_ , how much time did he lost? Minutes? More? He doesn't even know.

Clenching his jaw, Derek carefully gets to his feet. The delay for his muscles to answer makes him want to scream in frustration, but hurrying up won't help anything, as he would certainly fall back on the ground. John doesn't have time for several tries.

Once up and (mostly) stable, he walks to his brother, go down to one knee and slip his arms under John's shoulers and knees. His muscles scream at him, burning so much that he considers breaking a finger to kick-start his healing abilities. But no. It would take to much time to wait for the healing to end.

Besides, he is only twenty or so minutes away from the house. The second the Pack will smell blood, they would be here to help. He just need to hang on and walk (he doesn't even dare to think of running) for a little longer.

He doesn't know how long he walk, doesn't even know if he's walking straight. He doubts it, but can't make himself care. He's on autopilot: «walk to the house» is the only throught that is left in is head by the time the adrenalin has ebbed away (too quickly). That and focusing on Jonh's faint (oh, so faint) heartbeat. That's probably why he doesn't hear, see, or even smell the other werewolf until the hand closes on his shoulder, gently preventing him from crashing headfirst into the chest of whoever suddenly appared in front of him.

Another warm hand makes him lift his chin, and Derek recognizes Peter's face at the same time his uncle's scent finally registers. The relief is so great, he can't help to press his face into Peter shoulder. Now that he stopped walking, he doesn't think he can go again. He closes his eyes...and starts when a hand (again?) closes around his forearm, making him turn. He blinks up to his father face. He's saying something, and Derek feels somebody trying to take John away. Out of instinct, he tightens his grip. His father's face flashes with something (anger?), and his eyes suddenly burn red.

The world come into focus around Derek, and then narrows once more, until his Alpha is the only presence recognisable, a terrifying and unescapable pressure. It feels like he suddenly can't breathe, and he whimpers, low in the back of his throat. His father's voice (no, no his Alpha's voice) cuts through everything, resonates all around him, issuing a simple but unshakable command. _«Let go of John, Derek!»_. Derek lets go.

The hand on his arm suddenly vanishes, and he staggers forward, only to be caught by a strong arm around his torso. « Derek? ». It's Peter's voice, and he sounds worried. Derek would tell him he's okay, just tired, except apparently he just hit his limit.

Everything turns dark.

∼

The first time Derek wakes up, he feels to weak to even open his eyes, and he can't move. He promptly panics. He can't seem to get out of this...thing around him wich is maintaining him on the...bed? _What..._

Fingers suddenly slip in his hair in a gentle caress. He half-jumps (or at last, he does his best imitation considering the state he's in), but the soothing motion and, more importantly, the scent is familiar and family, and Pack. 

The constricting thing around him (blankets?) loosen, and he instinctively curls up closer to the warmth and the heartbeat of Peter, letting his uncle presence lull him back to sleep.

∼

The second time Derek wakes up, it's to the sound of an argument. He concentrates to hear better.

« ...didn't have to push him like this, dammit! ». It's Peter, and he sounds more angry that Derek ever heard him. His father fire back immediatly, seeming furious engouh to spit sparks, « He woudn't let go, you saw it. There wasn't time!».

«He was completly exhausted, James, » Peter retorts, « it could have... » His father cuts him short. «Well, since you're mentioning it...why was he so exhausted, brother? Going and coming back from the Great Cliffs, even at full speed and with additional weight, isn't that tiring, after all. How come he was barely conscious?».

There's a silence, and then Peter answers coldly. « So this is what all of this is about? You treated your own son no better than you would an ennemy wolf because you fear he used a Gift to save John's life? Because he did, James. He saved him, and you act like he sould be punished for it. Had Derek brought him five minutes later, John would have been dead or beyond any help, even the Bite, and you know it!».

«You know perfectly well the consequences of being a Gifted wolf, Peter! It's not normal. It shoudn't happen; our blood and the Arts of wichcraft sould never met. It's profoundly unnatural. And the disequilibrium generated is...».

Tired, Derek lets the quarrel fade back in a backgroud noise. He rolls over and blinks at the ceiling, slowly reharsing what he just heard. He knew the Gifted – the rare wolves with an affinity for magic – weren't really apprecied, but his father's ton just now was beyond desapprobation. It was infused with downright _disgust_.

He's not really surprised. Everybody in the Pack knows about the rumor of Peter's real reasons for leaving Beacon Hills: they say he left because he wanted to explore his own Gift, free of the Pack's rules. Of course, the price to pay was to become an half-omega. Half, because Peter still passed trough Hale territory now and then, to say hi, not at all put off by his elder brother glacial welcome and barely suppressed hostility.

Contrary to most of the Pack members who based their attitudes on the Alpha's, Derek never showed any animosity toward his uncle, even after he heard the whole « he's using magic » thing. In return, Peter had welcomed his questions with amusement but patience, teaching him more and more about werewolves, fighting (because he had a plan to land his sister on her ass one day), hunting, and even, on occasion, magic.

The Pack being often concentrated on Laura and David - future Alpha and Second – Derek was more often than not left to his own devices, free to run around in the forest and exercise as he saw fit as long as he stayed on the Pack's territory and came back at a given hour. He didn't resented it, not really. He'd always been something of a solitary person, less loud and commanding than his two older siblings. He had been more than fine with it, when one day Peter brought him something that made things even better: a book on werewolves, a lot more complete and interesting than whose in the house's library.

At first a little surprised, Derek had nontheless thanked his uncle, and resolved to give it a try (it was the last he could do when faced with Peter's throughtfulness). In the end, he hadn't let go of the book for two days, staying home to read instead of going out as he usually did.

And when Peter next visited, they had launched themselves into a passionate debate on mates' and border's frontiers' merits. They had discuted, argued, and laughed a lot, Derek more at ease in Peter's company than with most of his day-to-day Pack's brothers and sisters. He had been sixteen at the time, and it had been the first of the many half-serious arguments they now had each time Peter came home.

Speaking of the wolf (ha!), he can hear Peter approching. His uncle probably heard him moving or something, and decided to check on him. The footsteps stop in front of the door, followed by a very low knock, low enough that Derek could pretend not to have heard if he so wished. But Peter is more than welcome. He always is. «Come in», Derek say.

Peter gets in and closes the door before smiling at Derek, eyes warm. «Feel better?», he asks, still low, which make Derek frown a little. His answering « Yeah » sound a bit like a question, but seriously, what's the deal with the whispers and all? The other wolf sems to catch on Derek's trouble, because his expression turns grave and he imperceptibly tilts his head to the side, the telltale sign of a werewolf using their hearing.

Visibly satisfied, he relaxs a little and moves closer. «Can I?» he asks, showing the side of the bed. «Sure». Derek shifts to make room, and Peter sits down.

«I won't stay long, you know how you father gets when I outstay my welcome...». He chuckles ruefully, and Derek can't help but smile too, because yeah. He kowns. And seeing the Alpha of the Hale Pack that ruffled is a rare sight, indeed. Even if it means life become hell for anybody close. But Peter quickly sobers up when he adds: «Still, I'm going to stay in town for a little while. We need to speak, Derek. Seriously and out of the Pack's hearing range. I guess you know what I'm talking about?».

«No» would be Derek's knee-jerk answer, but he's always been honest with Peter before, and he doesn't want to start lying to him now. But still, he can't bring himself to say it out loud. So he only nods.

Peter sighs. «Why didn't you tell me?», he asks gently. «I would have helped, Derek. I'm not James.». Derek shrugs, and, when his uncle doesn't comment, he says reluctantly: «I know you're nothing like father. But it's...». He swallows, hesitates. But Peter never mocked him, at last never maliciously, so he says what's on his heart since he discovered he was Gifted. «I love them, Peter. Father, Mom, Laura...even David. And Mary and Jonh. All of them. It's not perfect but...they're family. Pack, and I...I don't want to be forced to go like you did».

Suddenly, it's like floodgates opening, and he can't stop. «I don't want to...be alone, real alone», he continues. «I don't know how to, and if father learns it, he will kick me out...So I trought that I could, you know, hide it, and life would go on like nothing happened. But there was John, and I knew he would die if I didn't do something, so...I did.». He shrugs once more, unsure. He answered honestly to his uncle, yes, but he just also dumped a load of problems on the poor guy's lap. And Peter has it harsh enough with the whole «everybody know I'm Gifted and my Alpha brother and my Pack barely tolerate me» thing.

Peter sighs once more. «What a mess...». He takes Derek arm and begins to trace calming circles on his wrist with his tumb, soft and rassuring. He fixes Derek in the eyes when he says: «I need to go now or your father's going to burst in and throw me out. But we'll talk Derek, I swear, okay? I'm going to find a motel in town, and I'll text you the adress. Come when you're better, and when you feel ready».

Derek nods, and manages to squeak out a strangled « Thanks », and Peter squeezes his wrist and mumurs « Anytime », before getting up.

«Oh, and...Derek?». He raises his head. Peter is staring at him, a strange intensity in his eyes. «Don't try to cover such a distance again, okay? Whatever the reason, just...don't». Derek is nodding when Peter face morphs into a familiar smirk. «Besides, you looked rather pathetic, all Bambi legs on solid ground», he adds, walking toward the exit. "It was...».

Derek hurls his pillow at the closing door.


	3. Chapter 2

Derek stretches one final time, enjoying the way his muscles finally answer him normally after four days of limping around. Pushing his hair out of his eyes, he straightens. 

Five and half an hour at maximum speed before the first aches began. It's good. Not even close to his stamina before – more or less two days, which made him the most endurant member of the Pack, at least among the youngs – but he's confident now that it'll come back quickly with regular training.

He still had to stretch for about an hour after each run to avoid a terrible stiffness the morning after, but...well, he tries to not complain. And besisdes, the simple fact of being able to escape the house is worth any pain.

The atomsphere over there is suffocating. Half the Pack stares at him like he's going to go on a psychopatic stroll any moment now, and the other half treats him like he will drop dead soon. Not to mention they barely speak to him at all. He swears, if he has to bear one more wary, or worse, pitying look, he will fucking kill someone. Or at least take an hostage.

He's still waiting for Peter's text, but he wouldn't really blame him if his uncle finally decided to spare himself the insanity. Even trough it would mean that he would be on his own to deal with this whole mess, with no idea where to even begin.

He sighs, then shakes his head decisively. He got out to be on his own and enjoy it, not to dwell on how much his family stupidity angers – or hurts – him.

He gets back to his walk, at brisk pace now intead of a run. He heads south, towards the river, intent on washing himself up a little.

The scent stops him even before the laugher resonates. He freezes momentarly, and then lets instinct take over, slipping under the wind and getting close without making a sound. He halts in the shadow of an oak, at the clearing's limit, and observes, unseen.

They're all here. All the youngs: Ethan, Tomas, Mary and...John, whose eyes flash blue now and then, all splashing each other heartily. Derek stares. He doesn't even know wherether to laugh or cry.

This is...One of them almost killed himself a week ago because they were by themselves, and the Pack let them do it again? What the fuck is that, _How my children almost died 2: the drowning?_

Scratch that actually, _Derek_ almost killed himself and got fucking _shunned_ for it and they are all being happy bunnies without sparing a throught about him. None of them, not Mary not even John, _fucker_ , seem to give a shit. He didn't even came check up on Derek, or anything.

A part of him know he's being irrational. They're kids and kids are _selfish_ and sometimes downright uncaring, and blaming them is not reasonable. But at this moment, he decides he's the one who doesn't give a shit.

He steps into the clearing, placing himself deliberately in the wind this time, and watches John and Ethan freeze and turn toward him with wide eyes. He can't help the cold smile that stretch his lips as he says, falsely calm, «Can I join in?», while causally stroll forward. The other kids - all humans – jump, and several even fall backwards on their asses.

Derek stops at about four steps from them, and tilts his head a little. «So? Can I join?». The children slowly step back, like Derek is going to try and rip their throats out, and he can't help but showing his teeth, just a little, even as he knows it's probably a bad idea. Actually, the whole confrontation is a phenomenal bad idea, but fucked for fucked, at least he can vent a little.

That's when John step up, and says «We don't want you here», eyes flashing blue, and Derek sees red. Forget the little part.

From his father or mother, distance and wariness hurt, but he gets it. Kinda. They're Alpha and Second, so they have to think of the Pack first. And well, okay, why not? It's not like he's their son or anything...so, yeah, he gets it. Maybe.

From David...they never been that close anyway, so...whatever. 

And from Laura, that's probably where it hurts the most, because, fuck everything, she may be future Alpha, but she doesn't have any responsability yet, and they're brother and sister, dammit! But of course, Miss Future Alpha has to obey and imitate father, and Derek let it go after a few tries. He wasn't going to beg.

But from _John_ of all people...and the cub dares to bare his fangs to him on the top of it? Derek growls, low and agressive, let the shift half take over, features sharpening and eyes flaring dangerously. John takes a step back, fear on his face, but Derek grabs him by the arm, faster than eye can see and _squeezes_ , and the rage spills over.

«You ingrateful little son of a bitch,» he spats with more contempt he throught he could ever manage to muster for anyone, «Who do you think you have to thanks for your new shiny little fangs and eyes? Thanks to who do you think you're still alive, huh? If it wasn't for me, you still would be a freaking bag of bones sticking out of skin, covered in blood and splattered all over the rocks! You own me your life, and you dare to defy me and tell where I can or cannot stay? Who the fuck do you think you are, cub?»

He'd ended his vicious speech with his face about three iches from Jonh's, teeth fully bared in the boy's face. Doesn't mean he's not keeping an eye – or rather an hear – on what's going around, and he knows Laura is approching fast and stopping about two meters behind him long before she speaks. She smells of anger and worry and, more surprising, of fear, a little.

Not that it transpires in her voice when she orders: «Derek, let go of him!». Laura's not an Alpha, not by far, so Derek could easily shrug off the demand, but, well...considering how livid John is, the kid actually seems to have understood his lesson. He lets go rather abruptly, dimissing the boy entierly and turning toward his sister, who is half wolfed out, too.

«What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?». Her tone is caught between furious and disbeliving. «What the hell were you thinking, attacking him like that?».

«Wrong with _me_?» Derek laughs harshly and spreds his arms, mocking. «So, out of the whole situation, I'm the one who's in the wrong if I'm to listen to you? There is nothing, nothing at all that you find wrong, let's say, with _the whole Pack_ , lately? ».

Laura's lips thin. «You don't get it, Derek! You're not Alpha. The repercussions of having a Gifted wolf in a Pack...The story with Peter was already a terrible blow to the Pack's reputation. You have no idea of the number of allies we lost because of it. I know what you think of politics, Derek. But without them, we would be nothing more than buch of savage wolves».

«No», Derek retorts coldly, roughly, and he knows it's not that simple, has read enough about Pack's diplomacy and rules to know that, but he's too angry, too hurt to try and be comprehensive right now. «No, we would only be a Pack of _werewolves_ who doesn't reject anybody based on what _abnormal abilities_ they may or may not develop».

Laura opens her mouth, like she was about to say something, but she finally shakes her head. «I'm sorry, Derek, really I am. But father's orders are very clear. And from the way you acted with John, I'm begining to think he's right. You're dangerous.»

 _Yeah, so dangerous, I saved my brother. Terrifing, indeed..._ But he doesn't say anything out loud. He feels...desappointed, somehow. That his sister would let him down so easily, just beacuse of rules and her Alpha's orders. Granted, they didn't always saw eye to eye, and fought often, about everything and anything under the sun, but...well, still, he would have trought Pack bond meant more than that. 

Still, he tries one last time. Letting his muscles relax and the shift retreat, he walk forward, as unthreatning as possible. «So I lost my temper with John» he admits, «And what? Can't you conceive that hearing him reject me after what I done for him could hurt? I woudn't have hurt him, not physically. I just...».

Visibly, that was the wrong thing to say, because Laura bares her teeth and cuts him short. «You just what? Children are the most precious members of the Pack, you know that. They're our treasures! We 'd all die to protect them! There is no «just» in what you did, Derek! It was....».

«I saved his life» Derek snaps. «And I shouted at him. Only _shouted_. Okay, I shook him a little, too, but...Why do you act like I tried to fucking maim him or something?».

«Because you will!». Laura's voice rang sout in the claring, the shout carrying her disgust. But under it, Derek can detect some kind of wild despair, and it makes him hesitate to retort as savagely as he planned.

«What?» he says instead, voice low and laced with disbelief. «Laura, what the _fuck_ are you...? I would _never_...». He steps forward, unsure and lost.

His sister instantly steps backwards, eyes trained on him, and he freezes. He sees her swallow, and for a moment, she looks like just as uncertain as he feels. But then her gaze harden, and any connection they could have found again is broken.

She shakes her head without answering, before gesturing to the cildren to gather aroud her. She turns, visibly ready to leave, but Derek's not going to let her go that easily. She has answers, and he needs them desperatly.

He steps forward quickly, barring her way, chin up and eye to eye, defiant, to make clear that he's not going to move unless she makes him, and asks «Laura, what the fuck does that mean?», quietly but firmly.

For a second, he belives she's going to actually attack him in order to pass, and he shifts his weight a little, readying himself, but she smiles coldly all of a sudden, and says «Ask Peter, since you have his number. Ask him about the Lauren Pack. I'm sure he'll love to speak of all his kills with you.»

When she steps around him, he's so stunned that he doesn't do anything to try and stop her. He sees her and the youngs disappear without really seeing it, lost in his throughts. For the first time since his Gift appeared, he asks himself if he's wrong to belive that it's not a curse.

He stands here for a long time. When, hours later, his phone chimes with the text that contain Peter's motel adress, Derek dosen't know if he should feel relieved or afraid.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here chapter 3! Took me more time to update, but finally, it's here, so...enjoy!

Derek leans against the cold wall of the lift and closes his eyes. _Motel O'Leara, third floor, room 116. Come anytime you want_. It's like Peter's text is printed behind his eyelids.

 _Come anytime you want_. Well, after a day to sort his troughts out, here he is, at 5:30 PM, getting out of the lift and into the corridor. He hesitates momentarly, but in the end begins to walk, determined. 

Laura's words had been a blow, a influence that made him question everything, turning and returning every conversation he ever had with his uncle in his head, shearching for any clue that he could be the violent man she'd hinted at. No, let's be honest, the _killer_ she'd hinted at. And the way she had spoken of kills. Plural, like there was too much to count...

So, yeah, he had hesitated. 

After all, his Pack, every single member except him, had decided that Peter didn't belong anymore. Could the _whole_ Pack be wrong about this? Could so much older, more experienced wolves be all mistaken and blinded by prejudice? Surely, if it was only that, there would have been at last one or two who would have stood up for Peter, wouldn't they?

But if there was something else, something more than the Gift, that could explain Peter's rejection by everybody. If he had done something horrible enough...something like killing a whole Pack, this Lauren Pack his sister had talked about...

But all of this, he had realised several hours and a headache later, was only speculation. Laura hadn't lied when she gave him this tidbit of thruth. It was, after all, what she trought was true. But it was also just that; a tidbit. Just enough to wreak havok in his ideas. It was the Pack truth, thier part of the story. Incomplete, maybe, but that was thier fault.

Derek owed to Peter a chance to explain, to give him _his_ truth, his version. And then, only then, he'd judge, and decide what to do.

Which brings him here, standing in the corridor, in front of Peter's door. Swallowing his nerves, he knocks. The door opens almost immediately, and Peter smiles at him, easy and warm. «Come in, Derek», he says, stepping on the side, and Derek, for all his doubts, can't help but smile in return as he gets in.

Peter closes the door, brushes past him towards the little table and the chairs in the corner, nudges Derek towards one of them and asks, «Do you want tea? Or coffee, maybe?», already walking towards the phone next the bed.

«I'm fine, thanks», Derek answers, trying desesperatly to sound neutral and to calm his growing nerves – this is Peter, dammit. Just Peter, with whom Derek always been friends, and always been honest. Begin to doubt him because of a few words from Laura is not fair. Peter deserves more than that from him. 

So he continues, frankly: «I'm fine. But I really need to speak to you. I had a...row...with Laura, and she...». He raises his head to meet Peter eyes as he says it. «She told me to ask you about the Lauren Pack. To ask you about...»

«...my kills?» Peter's voice is somewhere between amused and self-depreciating as he ends the sentence. He chuckles, but it sounds more weary than anything. «That's how James always put it» he adds by way of explanation. «My kills, and my wrongs. Thalia took to it, too, after a while. It's good to see he's passing down the tradition».

Derek frowns, because he's never heard Peter that bitter. Most of the time, he seems at ease everywhere, and with everyone, the Pack excluded. Derek never saw him lose his temper (except the last week with his father), but, he muses, he doesn't see Peter that often, so, who knows? Still, the idea of hurting him with his line of questioning makes Derek uneasy. He hesitates, and says awkwardly, «If you don't want to talk about it, we can...»

Peter cuts him off gently but firmly, «No. No, we need to talk about it, and it's a starting place like any other». It's obviously not, Derek thinks, but if Peter is ready to explain...He needs to know. So he nods.

«And besides», Peter adds with a bittersweet smile, «you sure as hell are the only one who ever gave me a chance to explain before running for the hills». He picks the receiver, dials a quick number, and while wating for the maid service, says, more warmly, «No need to be unconfortable trough, even if the discussion is. Sure you don't want anything?».

Derek says «Coffee, thanks», because he doesn't want this evening to turn more unconfortable or jugemental, and he'll probably look more friendly with a drink to fiddle with than empty-handed. Peter probably catches some of his reasoning, because he winks at him, clearly more relaxed than a minute ago.

While Peter is asking for the drinks, Derek lets his gaze wander around. Not that there's much to see. The room is large but rather spartan in furniture: the bed and night table, the bigger table he's sitting at, and a small closet. What he supposes to be Peter's bag is lying on the ground next to the bed, looking barely unmade. Basically, it looks like his uncle is ready to go at moment's notice, without leaving any trace behind.

He's pulled from his inspection by Peter sitting down in the armchair facing his, pushing his coffee toward Derek. His uncle raises an amused eyebrow, no doubt noticing his survey, and asks teasingly, «So, found any proof I'm a serial killer ?». 

«Not yet, but I'm sure I'll manage to dig up something soon. Just start talking». The words are out of Derek's mouth before he can think twice about the implications. Verbal sparring always been part of thier dynamic, so it's only natural for him to answer tease for tease, but in this case, it wasn't the more smooth retort possible, considering the matter at hand.

But Peter, far from taking it badly, raises his cup at Derek in a sort of toast. «Touché», he admits, smirking. «But I have to ask from the jury to wait for full testimony before delivering verdict».

Derek sobers up at that one. «I'm not here to judge, Peter». At his uncle sardonic smile, he precises, «At last not before I heard the whole story».

«Good enough for me», Peter retorts with a nod. He relaxes in his chair, and says, slowly, «Before I start on the story, you need to know about the context». His eyes flicker to Derek. «Unless Laura told you...?».

«No», Derek answers, «No, it was just...just a try to mess with me, I think. She said it while she was leaving, and I'm not even sure she knows more about it».

Petet nods. «I trought so...You've been honest with me, so I'll be honest in return. What she told you is true. I _did_ kill the Lauren Pack». 

Derek can't help his sharp intake of breath, but Peter raise a hand before he can say anything. «But at the same time» he continues calmly, «she doesn't know what she's talking about. James told her fragments of thruth, but she doesn't know the whole story. Actually, I'm not even sure that Thalia does».

«Why? Why didn't he told them...». Derek frowns. He doesn't get how his sister or mother can follow his father opinion if they don't know what the whole thing is about. Don't they want to know the truth?

«Because», Peter says, and his face grows somber, «As much as I'm not proud of what I've done all these years ago, I'm not the only one in cause. If James had listened to me...». He shakes his head, and looks at Derek. «Telling would be admitting failure on his side as much as mine. For an Alpha, it's a delicate matter».

«But it's also a duty», Derek's voice is sharp. «Especially considering the consequencies of shutting up. I can get the problem with admitting to have made a mistake, but still...It cost you your place in the Pack, it...»

«No», Peter interrupts him, and Derek stares at him, surprised. «No?», he repeats, «But...».

«I left, Derek. Of my own volition. I didn't wait for the decision of the olders. It didn't matter, I already had decided to go on my own way. The Pack's rules...didn't – sill don't – sit well with me. I wasn't chased away, Derek. I just left». Peter shrugs, but Derek is not letting go that easily.

«It doesn't change the fact that they would have throw you out, if they had had the opportunity». Derek fixes Peter, trying to impress his point. «It's not the way you treat a Packmate in my book. No matter what happened».

Peter stares at him, and his eyes are harder, now. «No matter what, huh?» Even killing a whole Pack?». His voice is low, almost threatening, and Derek can't help the instinct to tense, but he still lifts his chin and retorts, defiant, «I'm here, am I?».

«You are», Peter acknowleges, and the coldness vanishes from his demanor as suddenly as it appeared. «Alright, then...let's do this properly». He drums his fingers on the arm of his chair pensively, and begins.

«Before we settled in Beacon Hills, the Pack wandered a lot. Not only in America, but also in Britain, in Italy...Even in Asia for a while. Generally, we stayed only a few months, maybe half a year, and we went again. We didn't really want to settle; and at the time, the Pack was only your father, me, Thalia, David and Marie – your grandparents, on your father's side», he adds for Derek's benefit. «So it was rather easy to disappear when we wanted to».

«And then, one day, Marie said she'd like to go back to Vittoria, in Sicilia, where her mother's Pack lived. It was an idea like any other, and we were getting tired of Riverside and California, so we all agreed. And off we went».

Derek frowns a little at this because from what he knows of Packs' rules, you don't waltz in another clan's territory as you please. «Shouldn't you have, I don't know, warned for your arrival and asked for authorization before coming?».

Peter shakes his head. «No, not in this case. We always had excellent relations with the Juris Pack, to the point of forming an «open-territory» policy. It was one of the rare Packs we'd formed a strong link with, which is one of the reasons we weren't prepared at all for what we found when we arrived.»

«What did you find?», Derek asks, with a sense of dread.

«The dead body of Alpha Juris», Peter answers, voice cold. «Or, should I say, bits of Alpha Juris». He smiles, harsh and cold. «Her corse had been scattered all over the frontiers, like some kind of sick territory line. And since we hadn't contacted anybody from the Juris Pack beforehand, we just stumbled upon it».

Derek winces and swallows, trying to clear his head of the image, far too similar from another, a lot more recent; the memory of John impossibly twisted body, broken on the rocks. To imagine him in bits and pieces is far too easy. He grits his teeth, and asks, in a carefully controled voice, «So what did you do?».

From the way Peter looks at him, he isn't fooled in the last, but, _God bless him_ , he doesn't say anything, simply comes back to his story. «They all went berserk, obviously, and began to talk about revenge. Basically, they were all out for blood».

«All, but you», Derek remarks, because he knows Peter and it doesn't take a genius to hear the «they» instead of «we». His uncle smiles, just a little, like he's pleased that Derek is following him.

«All but me, yes», he admits easily. However, his face grows somber when he continues, «Don't think it's because I wasn't as raging mad as the others, through. I was; many of the wolves in the Juris Pack had been my friends, and I'd always held Diana in great esteem, even through we didn't see eye to eye on...well on many things actually, but the most important was her rules regarding Gifted wolves. She had rejected many of them from her Pack, making them Omegas, and, as you know, it's a rather dangerous situation to be in. Many died because she deemed them too dangerous to stay».

«It all seems to come back to that», Derek says, more for himself than for Peter. «How dangerous Gifted wolves are, or could be. Laura even told me that I would become a monster, like it was an evidence».

Peter hums in agreement. «She probably get that view from James. It's the kind of decisions he took whitch made me decide to go on my way. But on the other hand, it's not totally false either». At Derek's frown, he adds, «I know you want clearer answers, Derek, but many of them are in the story I'm telling you right now. It's not a black and white situation. You need to understand this, to think about this on your own, to be able to decide what you want to do about your Gift».

Peter looks at him, earnest. «I swear, once I'm finished with this, I'll answer any question you have. Anything. But first, I want you to know all of this. To know that I'm not always a great man, and that your father isn't a son of a bitch. Not all the time, at last».

Derek can't help the burst of laughter. Tension uncoils in his spine, and he finally relaxes in his seat. «Alright. I'm listening. Tell on».


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, this was a freaking minefield, I swear. I forgot how difficult it is to write a chapter where dialogue is dominant. Balance pathos, humor and necessary information is...let's just say it's not easy. But on the other side, it's one hell of a challenge, and I loved it.
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the time it took me to update this one, and tell me what you think!

Derek lets his neck roll and shifts so he can curl on his armchair, bringing his knees closer to his body. «So...Why weren't you as bloodthirsty as the others?»

In front of him, Peter moves too, his posture much more relaxed now that he haves Derek's whole attention. «First of all,» he retorts with a smirk, «because I'm sure as hell a lot more level-headed than James, thank you very much». 

Derek grins in answer behind his coffee cup. «And second?». That makes Peter's smile fade, remplaced by a light frown. 

«And second...Second is a little more complicated, actually. You know how your werewolf senses bring you data, whether you want it or not? You learn to reject it so it doesn't bother you, but it's always here, right? You still register what is happening all around, even when it's irrelevant.»

Derek nods. It's the first lesson young wolves learn, how to master the impressive amount of information that come from werewolf abilities. The string of scents and noises never stop, and it's impossible to turn off, so you have to learn how to analyse and instantanly reject what input is unwanted, and keep what can be useful. Pretty tiring at first, but by twelve it generally feels as natural as breathing.

Peter continues, «Between other things, my Gift acts like some kind of sixth sense. When there's magic in play, I feel it immediately. And this day, in Juris' territorry? There was so much power around, I felt sick. It was like a vice around my lungs and stomach, making me dizzy with the pressure.»

Derek tries to imagine it, and it's actually rather easy. It's more or less what he feels when he teleports too hard, or too far. «You have all my sympathy», he says with a wince, and Peter hums in acknowlegement, clearly amused. «Yes, I throught you of all people would get it. Anyway...I tried to talk James down, but...».

Peter fells silent for a while, lost in throughts and memories, and Derek doesn't say anything. His uncle eyes, sad and angry all at once, speak for themselves. 

Finally, the older wolf shrugs, visibly shaking of the remembrance, and concludes, «...but your father is nothing if stubborn, and saying 'there is magic users here' without actually _saying_ it is...a rather neurones-twisting experience».

«I bet», Derek mutters. And, louder, he asks, «So, you two argued, yes?». Peter snickers at that. «'Argued' is an euphemism. We had the motherfucking of all rows, pardon the swear». He sighs.

«Had been simmering for awhile, in fact. James is headstrong now, but at last he learned to delegate a little, and to backpedal when necessary. At the time...he'd been Alpha for three years, and he was so single-minded...». Peter raises his eyes to Derek's, a smile playing on his lips. «It would have been ridiculous if it hadn't been so frustrating.»

Derek nods fervently. God knows that is father is difficult to talk to. And it's one hell of an euphemism, but since they seem to be into it...

Several times, his younger siblings had come to him, asking to convey requests or questions. It wasn't that his father was a despot, not at all. He loved his Pack more than anything. But all the same, he stayed in the role of this autority figure, far from you. Protective, yes, without a doubt, but...cold. You could talk to him, and he would listen. But he wouldn't hear you, not really. Not in the way that mattered. _Like when I told him not to let the youngs wander alone..._

«Don't take me wrong, he did listen to the others, but, when he had set his mind on something...Well, it generally took several screaming matches to even make him rethink his decision. And that was when he was calm enough».

Peter keeps going, his tone more tense now. «I told you I made mistakes this day, and it began when I decided to argue». He twirls what's left of his tea, before finishing it in one glup. It looks more like the way somebody would throw a vodka down, and Derek, worried and a little perplexed, can't help but inhale a bit, letting his senses relay the information.

Normally, it would be a very impolite thing to do, since actively searching for sensory clues means bypassing every boundaries of your interlocutor. Lying with words and body is one thing. Lying with your scent and heartbeat is quite another. Impossible, or practically. 

Some very old wolves can do it, or so thay say, but basically, the use of supernatural senses is considered as an inescapable way to get the truth, and, as such, viewed as very rude. It equals to stripping a person of his or her secrets, and this kind of absence of intimacy would make a Pack implode rather quickly. So in the end, use of heightened senses is saved for hunting and, possibly, ennemies.

The first time Peter had smelled his humiliation under his rage, Laura had beaten him in a spar, again, which hadn't been new. The way his father had burst of laughing, quickly followed by his mother, and then most of the Pack, however, had been, and he had felt shame burn his way through is stomach. 

He'd ran (only to learn later that everybody had laughed because they been overjoyed that Laura's eyes had flashed red in the midle of the fight, designating her as the future Alpha). Anyway, he'd been running when he'd caught Peter's scent, about ten seconds before his uncle's apparance. 

He'd taken one look at Derek and immediately stepped closer, asking what was wrong. Derek had retorted there was nothing, and he was just in a bad mood because of his defeat. In answer, his uncle had inhaled, without even trying to hide, and said «Then why do you smell so hurt?». Derek almost had punched him in the face.

After a – very long - discussion about it, they'd decided that the use of the sense of smell was acceptable, as long as it was done openly, and stopped if asked. 

And Derek is using this right at the moment, eying Peter all the while, ready to halt at the smallest sign. But if the way Peter half-smirks at him is a clue, he doesn't seem to mind. He smells of anger, melancholy, sadness, wry amusement...and a lot of guilt, just has Derek throught. Except he doesn't get it, and he tells his uncle so.

«I don't understand. How was arguing a mistake? It was the only sensitive thing to do, the only way to stop them. You couldn't let them go on their merry way, could you?».

Peter doesn't seem very moved by his nephew's protestations. «Arguing was necessary, yes. _The way_ I started the arguement certainly wasn't». At Derek raised eyebrow, he precises grudgingly, «I told him to shut it for once, and to fucking _listen_. In less polite terms».

Derek stares for about ten seconds before dissolving in laugher. He knows this is serious, important, and not a joking matter, but he can't help it. 

Knowing Peter, who can verbally eviscerate about anyone in less than two minutes, his Alpha probably got quite the rip in. And with his own growing exasperation and hurt and anger towards his father recently...the image is quite cathartic.

«Oh God, Peter, I love you right now, you have no idea». His uncle's frown in front of his reaction vanish at that, and he shakes his head ruefully, but can't help his lips' twich. It only makes Derek grin harder, even as his hilarity subsides. «Oh, come on,» he teases, «don't tell me it didn't feel good because I won't believe you».

Peter snorts, but the flash of mischef in his eyes says it all. «It did,» he admits. «It felt really good to be able to spit everthing at his face. To let go». But his smile quickly disappear when he adds, «So good, in fact, that I kinda...lost it a bit».

«If I had kept my arguments to the point, I'm pretty sure David would have supported me. Maybe even Thalia». He sighs, raking a hand throught his hair, the gesture tense and angry.

«But I didn't. I began to let the personal get in. You know how it is: the loneliness, the hurt...it all turns into anger so easily. And I was rather lonely at the time. Isolated. James had Thalia, Marie and David had each other...Add to that the fact that my interests were rarely the same as theirs...Well. I wasn't Omega yet, of course, but I was alone more often than not, and James and I were...more and more often at odds with each other».

Derek keeps his mouth shut, even through questions are flying in his head, because Peter seems to want to get it all out at once. He will ask what he wants to know later. So he simply nods, trying to look as encouraging as he can. Peter's weak smile in answer tells him that, at least, his uncle appreciates the effort.

«So,» he asks, «do you get it, now? By losing my temper, I put in motion exactly what I wanted to stop so desperatly». Peter is looking at him like he's half-waiting for Derek to jump on his feet and start ranting, but the young man just shrugs. «They didn't go _because_ you protested. If you had shut up, they would have done exactly the same. At least you tried».

«Probably», Peter murmurs. «But I'll always wonder if, had I chosen my words more carefully, I could have stopped them». Silence streches for a long minute before Peter start again, eyes suddenly hard. 

«So, I failed, and we went in. It was your father most stupid decision ever, but we went in. And the whole thing turned to hell after about only five minutes of walking, as I expected. We met three ennemies Beta, one of them Gifted, and...well, I thank the moon there were five of us, because had we been less, we would have ended up exactly like Alpha Juris. As it was, we barely managed to kill them and fled with half the Pack at our heels».

«We refugied in a nearby town, slipping in at night to hide Marie and James' states. Not that we weren't all beaten to hell, but they were the worst. It took them almost four days to recover, and the first thing your father said upon getting up was «we'll have our revenge». _Imbecile_ ». 

The last word whips out, cold and disdainful, slashing the air with a harshness that makes Derek flinch. He never, never heard his uncle sound like that. The voice is low, but the level of rage behind it, in the depths of his eyes, is frightening.

Some of his tension probably passes in his scent, because Peter's eyes snap to his, and he winces a little. «Sorry», he says, taking Derek hand to squeeze it briefly, touch warm and reassuring. «I didn't meant to take it out on you. Sorry». 

«S'okay». Derek squeezes back, lets affection and understanding color his voice and his scent. «So, tell me». He grins. «What kind of brilliantly evil plan did you come up with?».

Peter lets go of his hand, but his eyes stay fixed on Derek as he sit back in his armchair. «James is _truly_ a fool», he whispers, and before Derek can ask what this was about, his uncle takes up his tale again.

«Since I already witnessed how useless trying to reason with James was, I tried Thalia and David. I thought that seeing their mates hurt as badly as they had been would make them more receptive, but it was just the opposite. They were absolutely enraged, the both of them, told me I couldn't get it since I didn't had anyone. And they were right on that count. I couldn't understand their determination to walk in an already lost battle no more than they could understand my caution».

Peter seems to hesitate over how to formulate his next sentence, and when he does, there is something almost distressed in his voice. «It was morning when I finally understood that I wouldn't convince them, no matter what I said. I knew they would attack this night, try a blitz assault to take down as much wolves as possible. And I knew they would fall. So I...did the only thing I could do to ensure my Pack survival. I used my Gift. I killed the Lauren Pack...». 

Peter takes a breath, lifts his chin, and stares Derek in the eye as he ends, « _...as well as three quarters of the humains in town_ ».


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here chapter 5, rather late, but, eh, better late than never, yes? Also, this chapter is beta-read! A great thanks to DevilPills for correcting my typos and other mistakes.
> 
> Enjoy, and tell me what you think!

Derek swallows several times before finding his voice. «You...». His throat feels suddenly too narrow to let out anything else, but Peter seems to get the gist of his unfinished sentence, because he nods slowly, solemnly.

«Yes», he says, voice low but perfectly clear. «I did. And before you ask...no, they weren't in league with the Lauren Pack or anything like that. They were innocent bystanders, but I needed them for my plan. I knew they would probably all die, but it was them or my Pack, and I chose my Pack. And I'd do it again if I had to».

The silence, heavy, closes on Derek when Peter's voice fades. _Three quarters of a town..._ Even if it wasn't a populated area, the number of people it represents is...His own heartbeat resonates in his ears, and his thoughts are so tangled he feels dizzy.

«So», and his voice seems to have a mind of its own, because he may be talking but he's still drawing a total blank, «Not a serial killer but a mass murderer?».

He distantly hears Peter's sharp intake of breath, hears the creaking of the armchair when his uncle straighten. «Yes. I guess I can't deny it, can I?». The matter-of-fact way of answering, the calm tone, throw the world around Derek in sharp focus, and rage ignites in his stomach.

«'Yes'. It's all you have to say?». He spats it at Peter, because he wants to tear this careful indifference in pieces, shred it apart until his uncle actually looks like he's giving a shit about the fact that he killed more people than he can probably count.

Peter fixes him, coolly, and asks «What do you want me to say, Derek? That I am sorry? That it was the only way? What justification should I...».

«That you care!» Derek snarls, cutting him off. «Simply that you fucking care. That you give a shit about them, about all these people, all dead because you decided so! What gave you the right, Peter?». He's standing now, glaring at his uncle, feeling his nails hurt with an urge to change he didn't feel in years.

Peter looks up at him and retorts, still so impassive that Derek wants to scream and shake him, «If it makes you feel any better, I dream of their bodies in pieces about every night. Sometime I see myself drowning in their blood, too».

Derek...hesitates at that. He's searching for something to say when Peter adds, steel in his voice, «I _am_ sorry, but you won't hear me apologize. I protected my Pack, and I always will. What would you have done in my place? ». 

Derek clenches his jaw. He wants to say he would have found another way, wouldn't have killed indiscriminately, because he refuses to believe that the ends justify the means. But he can't. He's honest with himself enough to know that, when push comes to shove, he would save his own, no matter the cost. Didn't he already do it, in a way, when he used his Gift to save John, even though he knew the price he would have to pay?

Yes, but it was a price for him and him alone. Peter apparently didn't hesitate to imply others, and they paid it with their lives.

Peter doesn't say anything, letting Derek think and rage in silence for a long minute. Finally, he stands up, a head taller than Derek, but rather than try to loom over him and impress his point, he bypasses his nephew completely and strides to the door.

«Now. Do you want to go?». The blunt question calls an answer just as honest, so Derek says, «No», without giving himself the time to think about it. But as unthinking as his answer was, it's nothing but the truth. He may be shocked, maybe a little disappointed, but in the end, his kinship with his uncle is only stronger for it.

Derek Hale is many things but he's certainly not an hypocrite. Would he had made himself sick with guilt upon the deaths? Yes. Would he had hesitated, been torn over his decision? Again , yes. Doesn't change the fact he would have done it. His Pack is the most important thing in his world, even now. In order to protect Laura, or any Packmate, he would kill anyone, of that he's certain. 

But _use_ anyone, especially people who doesn't have anything to do with the werewolf world? It's a whole new level. A line he's not sure he would cross.

«Why them?», he asks, voice rough. «If you could use them, why not use the enemy Pack directly? The other wolves? I don't...It's not the killing of the Lauren Pack that bother me. I would have killed them, too, had I been there. But why involve humans, Peter? Why them, dammit?».

Peter sighs and leans against the door, fingers tapping a surprisingly tense rhythm on the wood. «Because I couldn't do it any other way. My Gift is a lot less effective on wolves, and I feared, with other Gifted wolves in the area, that if I tried it on them, I'd lose my advantage».

Derek mulls that over before saying slowly, «So you...didn't even tried before deciding it wasn't an option?». Peter chuckles, but his eyes are somber. 

«I told you, didn't I? I made mistakes at the time. In my defense, I was rushed by time, and in order to try it I would have needed my Pack's help. Had I been able to capture one of them, secure him and experiment...Maybe I would have changed my plans. Or maybe not. In any way, it would have implied telling to James I was Gifted. And after his stupidity earlier? I wasn't ready to do that. Maybe I should have trusted him, but I didn't».

Derek nods. That he can understand. But there is still the question of what Gift they're speaking about, here. «Okay. Okay, I kinda get it. But what can you do, exactly? You're beating around the bush, don't think I didn't notice».

Peter winces, honest to God winces, and Derek raises an eyebrow. «Come on, it can't be _that bad_ ». Peter snorts. «James sure thought otherwise», he mutters, to which his nephew instantly fires back, «I thought we agreed I'm not my father».

A small smile passes on Peter lips. «Touché», he admits. And then his smile widens dangerously, and he pushes from the door, walks to Derek. «Your father never trusted me», he says, very matter-of-factly, and Derek nods cautiously. When Peter is that cheerful, somebody is generally about to get seriously fucked over. 

«But,» his uncle continues, «since you're not your father...what about I show you what I can do?». For a second, Derek doesn't get why trust would be involved in this, and then it clicks. «You mean show on me, don't you? Whatever it is you do...you'd do it to me». Peter hums in agreement, circles him until he's behind Derek. The young wolf forces himself to stay still, nape bared and defenseless. He trusts Peter. He does. And he's not...

«Afraid?» Peter asks, damn him. Derek forces the instinct to whirl round and bare his teeth to the threat down, forces his voice to stay calm when he answers, «Not of you. Even if you _are_ sounding more and more like a psychopath with every passing second».

Peter steps back, and when Derek turns his head, he finds his uncle is smirking at him. «Ouch», he comments, grinning. «You sure know how to stroke a guy's ego...First a mass murderer and now a psychopath?».

Derek smiles in answer...and goes for the kill. «And you're very good at evading questions you don't want to answer». His uncle's sly grin vanishes at that, and he frowns. «Seriously, Peter, what is it? Come on, you did say you'd answer any question I had, didn't you?». Derek goes back in his seat and tilt his head up to look at Peter eye to eye. «Well. This is me asking». And he follows up the sentence with a _'go ahead'_ gesture.

Peter snorts. «Ladies and Gentlemen, please admire my nephew's ability for tact and patience», to which Derek replies simply with «Deflecting again». Peter shakes his head and mutters «I don't know why I thought this would be a good idea», but his shoulders are more relaxed and his eyes less haunted, so Derek counts it as a win. Peter briefly squeezes his shoulder - in thanks, maybe – when he sits back down as well.

Silence reigns for a minutes before Peter suddenly asks, «Do you know why Packs originally accepted humans in their midst?». Derek blinks. «Hell of a non-sequitur,», he answers slowly, «but, no, I don't». Visibly, Peter is going to get at this by turns and shifts. 

For a second, Derek thinks of calling him on it, but finally decides against it. He has nowhere to be, and his curfew is long past already – and he'll probably get hell about it later, not that he really cares. So why not let Peter do as he pleases, tell as he wishes? If it helps...

«Not that much of a non sequitur, as you'll see,» Peter corrects. «At the time of he first Packs, the only way to acquire power was to give birth to young wolves or to give the Bite to anyone in reach. It was a never-ending race, which goal was to have the bigger Pack. Until of these Packs of Old had the idea to recruit humans – not for turning, but as Packmates. Fully-human Pack members. Seemed foolish, but it was pure genius». He looks at Derek, eyes inquisitive. «Do you understand why?» 

Derek tries to think about it. He never questioned the presence of humans in the Pack. He was born with them, raised with them and taught to treat them as equals even though they weren't wolves. 

_Seemed foolish_ , Peter had said, and even if it goes against everything he believes, he can understand this point of view. If what you want – all you want - is more power, incorporating weaker elements in your Pack doesn't look like the best idea, indeed. Humans are, objectively, frail. Fragile, badly – sometimes to the point of death - hurt over almost nothing. They can't fight, not against enemies which are werewolves, they would be ripped to shreds. Or turned by the Alpha of another Pack and forced to treason.

And yet, according to Peter it had been genius. Why? He can't imagine humans confronting wolves head on. Well, except Hunters, obviously, but Hunters use...And then it hits him.

«Wolfsbane», he murmurs, mind racing with the possibilities. «They can use wolfsbane without any ill-effects. Like the Hunters». Peter tips an imaginary hat in his direction. «Excellent deduction», he says, but Derek isn't listening.

He's too busy thinking, connecting the dots. Finally, he's beginning to get it, to see and understand. 

Werewolves are hard to kill. Not because their senses or reflexes, not primarily at last. No, what makes a werewolf so dangerous, Derek reflects, is his ability to heal very quickly, and to come back from normally fatal wounds. From what he knows, except from a clean shot through the head, not much can destroy his kin.

But if one brings wolfsbane in the mix...Even a little dose is poison, and it suppresses the healing ability right away. Once the poison is in the system, one fell sick pretty quickly: his strength dwindles to nothing while his body is caught in a raging fever. And at this point, it doesn't take much to end a wolf. Or, in that case, a Pack of wolves.

Derek can't help his shiver when he looks at Peter again. «You poisoned them all, didn't you? Or rather, you made the humans do it. And then, you just...killed them». His uncle stays silent, and it's a more effective confirmation than any vocal agreement.

Derek swallows. «How?». He has an idea, but he wants to hear it from Peter himself. The older wolf lets out a dark chuckle. 

«You already know, Derek. I used the humans, bent them to my will. It's the nature of my Gift. I can slip in the mind of my...victim, and alter everything. His – or her – choices, perceptions, decisions...I can make them see things that aren't here, drive them mad. Or, if I wish so, I can make their minds fall asleep, use them, and let them wake up hours later without any idea I was ever here, in their heads».

Derek nods slowly, and lets his breath out in a shaky exhale. «Don't take this the wrong way, Peter...But I kinda get why father freaked out. I mean, _I am_ kinda freaking out right now».

Peter leans forwards, elbows propped on his thighs and his hands loosely clasped. «Derek, if you weren't frightened, I would be rather worried about you. I understand your fear: if somebody told me he was able to get into my head, I assure you, I would freak out as well. The question is not whether to be afraid or not, but rather to know if you still trust me or not, knowing what I can do. And what I did».

«It's...». Derek rakes a hand through his hair, unsure of where to start. «I told you, the killing of the Lauren Pack is not the problem. And for the rest, I...I need to think, Peter. I can't tell you anything else at the moment. I just need to...think about it».

Peter inclines his head. «Of course. What about we stop here tonight? You look like you need a break». Derek nods silently. He needs to sort his thoughts out, to get over the shock of it in order to be able to think coherently. He needs time.

But the idea of getting home is...He feels exhausted already. Having to explain himself about the fact that he was with Peter, or having to shower and then lie about his whereabouts...

He sighs. Since he doesn't feel like a row with whoever member of the Pack will meet him at the door, option number two is easier. He supposes.

«Hey, can I take a quick shower? Just a few minutes and I'll be out of your hair». Peter nods, but he's frowning. «You want to go home?». Derek, already in the middle of taking his shirt off, snorts.

«'Want to', no. 'Have to', yes. The situation is already delicate enough without me sleeping out. I will be roasted like hell for the curfew already, no need to give them more ammunition, right?».

No answer. Derek turns to look at Peter, who has put on a speculative expression. «Actually, since you'll be roasted anyway...You can stay, if you want». It's Derek's turn to frown, but Peter starts again before he can say anything. «Listen, honestly, you look like hell, and it's partly my fault. If you want to go home, you can. But if, as I assume, you don't feel up to it...Then stay. Call a friend, ask him to cover for you, and go home in the morning».

Derek hesitates. The smart thing to do would be to get back home, but Peter's right. He's not in any shape to argue and row and defend himself. He just wants to curl up on a bed, go to sleep, and think about the whole thing in the morning. He debates with himself a few moments more, but in the end, he gives a mental shrug. 

The Pack has been treating him like shit for two weeks now. Nobody tried to help, or even to talk to him. Why should he care about what they'll think? _Fuck them_ , he decides, and takes his phone. 

It's 11PM already, but he knows Brian doesn't go to sleep before at last two in the morning, so...He has a second of doubt, his thumb hovering over the button, but he shakes his head decisively and hits call.

Brian is a good friend, and he owes Derek for a few self-defense lessons, so he agrees to cover for him without a problem, to call Laura and to say that Derek crashed on his couch.

«That was fast», Peter comments once he hangs up. «He's pretty much my best friend», Derek retorts, «and I'm the one who taught him how to beat the shit out of anybody who called him a fag, so...». He lets his sentence unfinished, and crawls on the bed.

Any human would probably raise an eyebrow on the image of nephew and uncle, naked from the waist down and sharing the same bed, but werewolves' views on space-sharing and nudity are different from humans', to a certain extent.

It's not the first, and probably not the last time that Derek finds himself in Peter's bed or vice-versa, so it's easy to comfortably half-sprawl over his uncle and let the heartbeat under his ear lull him to sleep.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6, again betaed by DevilPills^^  
> Enjoy!

Derek passes a hand through his hair, making the last of the shampoo slide away, and turns his face in the jet, letting the water slice over his skin and drown the sounds to a vague echo. 

Peter being a gentleman, he'd insisted for Derek to use the shower first, and he'd eagerly accepted. Anything to make himself busy and push away the reflexions that had plagued him most of the night.

It hadn't been his most brilliant idea. Derek had made a habit of using showers to think years ago. It's his way to cut off from the world around him, helped by the warm water, cascading on the tiles in a soothing melody. And this one isn't the exception.

Case in point: now that he washed himself, he's thinking, despite his best efforts to empty his head. Besides, as everyone knows, the best way to make one think about a given subject is to tell them not to think about it. Or at least, it's working swimmingly, here.

If only he was progressing in his reasoning. But no. In the end, he's still struck at the same point. He made his peace with Peter's actions around 4AM this night. He already half admitted he would have done the same, anyway. But the issue of his uncle's Gift is...a lot more complicated.

At first it seems quite easy. Either he trusts Peter or he doesn't. And, if he had to answer spontaneously, he would say that yes, he trusts his uncle, probably more than anybody else. More than the Pack, even, considering the last events.

But, still, the ability to control people...it's chilling. Like, seriously frightening. He's not sure he can stay around Peter and not ask himself every five minutes or so if what he sees is real. _No_ , he thinks, correcting himself, _you're not being fair._

He knows, reasonably, that Peter wouldn't rape his mind like that, never. That, just like Derek, he wouldn't hesitate to use his Gift to destroy anything threatening the Pack, but never to harm a Packmate. He doesn't doubt that for a second.

At the same time, his more bone-deep instincts are balking at the idea of being that defenseless. It's worse than offering his throat, or letting his nape bared. Those can be choices, or if it's forced, you still have the option to fight back like hell, even to the point of death if you wish so.

Peter's brand of control isn't like that. It's absolute, inescapable... _terrifying_. It makes him want to attack blindly, in a desperate attempt to protect himself, like a cornered wolf would. It makes him feel more afraid, more out of control than he's ever been since he learned to control the shift. And he hates it.

Not that it's his uncle's fault. After all, it's not like you have a choice in what Gift you develop, or when it appears.

The first time he'd teleported, Derek had been fourteen. It had been a perfectly normal day, no danger, no stressful situations – except maybe the fact that Laura had been it, and she'd been catching up on him. She'd been laughing, certain to catch him. With reason: she was fast, faster than Derek.

Anyway, he'd run towards the steepest of the hills, trying to play on his strength: his endurance. The plan was to tire Laura enough that she would go chase another of the kids. But his sister, rather than dumbly follow him on the slopes, had used a shortcut. He'd smelled her too late, coming at full speed on his right, and he had taken off, already knowing he wouldn't be able to outrun her. 

And suddenly, his run had become much harder, like he was waist deep in water. Surprised and afraid, he'd done the first thing he could think of: he'd fought against the invisible obstacle, pushing back with all his might. 

He'd felt the blood rush to his head, making him dizzy, the edges of his vision darkening. His legs had given out, and he had ripped his skull open on a rock in his fall. He'd feel into unconsciousness.

It hadn't been long, maybe something between fifteen or twenty minutes, before he'd groggily came back to himself, half his face sticky with blood. The fact in itself wouldn't had made him flinch – young wolves fell and hurt themselves rather badly pretty regularly, so wake up covered in blood wasn't _that_ uncommon.

No, the moment he'd freaked out like crazy was the instant he actually got on his knees, looked around for Laura – she should have caught up with him already - and saw he was near the _river._

There was only one river that got through Hale territory, and it was about 2 miles south from the hills they had been playing in. 

Disbelieving, he had risen...only to fall back, an awful spasm contracting his stomach and promptly throw up until his throat felt raw and burning. Head pounding, skin suddenly slick with cold sweat, he'd rolled on his side with difficulty, shaking like a leaf and feeling iced with fever.

Desperate to get warm, he'd curled up on himself and laid here, terrified out of his mind but unable to move, praying for his sister or any Packmate to find him. But nobody came. It was only few hours later that he'd felt the shaking subside enough for him to dare and try to move.

He'd had done so as slowly as possible, wary of stomach spasms or dizziness, but nothing had happened. He'd felt exhausted and famished, members stiff and muscles painful – which he'd had imputed to the hours spend on the ground at the time, through he knew better now.

He'd slowly made his way home, a little light headed – made a story about tripping and hitting his head when asked about the blood, and it had been true enough that his heartbeat hadn't betrayed him. Since he'd been fully healed already, his mother had simply washed the blood away. 

And when Derek had fallen on the fridge like a starved wolf, nobody had said anything: healing took energy – especially on injuries in possible fatal areas. None of the Pack had noted anything amiss.

Half a day later, he'd read about Gifts in one of Peter's books, and spent the rest of the two following weeks half-paranoid, jumping at shadows and convinced that the word 'Gifted' was somehow glowing above him in bright neon. He laughed about it now, at how skittish he'd been.

But at the time, it had been the loneliest and desperate he'd ever felt, waiting at each second for his Father to chase him away and terrified of it.

 _Had it been the same for Peter?_ He now asks himself, toweling his hair. Had he, too, been afraid of what was happening to him, unable to understand why he suddenly could do these strange things? Had he asked himself why he became different when he never asked for it, never wanted it? Had he been as desperately furious as Derek, trying to hide despair behind anger? Probably.

But Peter didn't have anybody at the time with who he could have spoken of it, the way he's doing for Derek now. The loneliness of it makes Derek sad, as well as angry. It's not fair.

And, when in the end, his brother discovered it all, and turned his back on him, even though Peter had just basically scarified himself to the Pack... _You sure are the only one who gave me a chance to explain before running for the hills_ , his uncle had said. It's this memory, the reminder of how alike they are, and the sheer injustice of it that makes Derek decides. 

He won't be one of the people who rejected Peter Hale simply because he can manipulate minds. He refuses to be. He may not know Peter that well, but doesn't believe anybody should be that lonely, no matter who they are, or what they're able to do. 

And besides...how can you ask for trust and acceptance if you're not ready to give them yourself? It's a two-way street, as one might say.

He nods decisively, and as on cue, a gentle knock resonate on the door. «Derek?», Peter calls, sounding somewhere between serious and amused. «I didn't mean to disturb you, but it's the seventh missed call you received in twenty minutes, and they're all from Laura».

Derek frowns, throws his boxer and jeans on and opens the door. «Seriously?», he asks, and Peter simply hands him his phone. He can't help raising an eyebrow as he comments absently «Make that eight». 

He quickly verifies, but his sister didn't left anything on his voicemail. That means he has to actually call her back in order to know what's going on, which was probably the goal in the first place. Well, too bad for her, he's not in the mood. If she wants to talk to him that badly, if it's that important, she can call back. Maybe it's childish, but it feels very good.

He goes back in the bathroom, grabs his shirt, slips it on and walks out. «Bathroom's free», he announces. Peter, who had been reading in one of the chairs, stands up. «Thanks. What was the matter with Laura?».

Derek sits down on the armchair his uncle just abandoned, and shrugs. «Dunno. She didn't left any messages». «And you're not...calling her back?». Peter's voice is carefully neutral, but his disapproval is evident in his frown, so Derek retorts, «No. She can call herself» probably a little more harshly than necessary.

But Peter doesn't seem to take offense. In fact, he sighs. «Derek, I, of all people, understand how good it feels to reject them in turn, so I' not going to scold you for it, or try to lecture you. But please, try to remember what I told you last night. Letting hurt and loneliness turn into anger can be a dangerous decision. A bad decision. What if it's important? What if somebody is hurt?».

Derek's lips thin, but he doesn't answer. Peter sighs once more, but doesn't push. He simply squeezes Derek's shoulder in passing. The bathroom door closes behind him, leaving Derek alone with his thoughts.

Determined to stand by his decision, he takes Peter's book, curls himself comfortably in the chair and begins to read.

Ten minutes later, he gives up and closes the book with an exasperated snap. _Psychological warfare in Pack conflict_ is normally a book he would love reading – it makes a great subject for an argument with Peter. But if there's one thing he learned in the last four years, it's that when you're reading about war strategy, then _you're reading about war strategy_ , and nothing else. It's the kind of subject that doesn't allow a wandering mind or parasite thoughts.

Which is exactly what he's doing. He's worried, Peter's words nagging at his mind. What if it was important, indeed. It's one question he can't shake off. What if Laura called that much because there is a problem, a grave problem? What if somebody died and he wasn't here, just because he was too stubborn, too proud?

He racks a hand trough his still-damp hair, furious with himself. He is being ridiculous. They are fine. It's not because a kid fell and almost died that they were all going to suddenly be in grave danger. But the image of John's body still floats in front of his eyes, too vivid, too real. What if...

With a muffled, angry curse, hating himself for caring, he grabs his phone and hits speed dial. His sister picks up after three rings.

«Derek, finally! I called Brian, he told me you were already gone...Where were you?». Laura's aggravated voice is already getting on his nerves, and they have been on the phone less than a minute. Oh, this is going to be great, he's sure of it.

«I was out», he retorts curtly, trying to reign his exasperation in. «What do you want? I guess there is a reason you've been calling me non-stop for the last half-hour?». So much for civil. But whatever, he doesn't have the patience to try and make small talk. The quicker Laura gets to the point, the better.

They're probably – unbelievably – on the same page for once, because she cuts to the chase. «Father wants to see you, as soon as possible. And as infuriated as he is? I would get my ass here pretty quickly, brother».

 _Fuck you_ doesn't actually cover all the insults listing in his head right now, so Derek simply hangs up on her. He throws his phone in the general direction of the table – right now, he doesn't give a shit if he misses – and let his head fall back against the back of the chair, closing his eyes.

Well, _shit_. If his Father decides to get a say in the matter...If his Alpha orders him to say the truth, the whole truth, he won't have a choice. He'll have to admit his Gift, out loud. He won't have the defense of his silence anymore. 

His Father doesn't even have to accuse him of anything, he just need to ask, and Derek will spit everything out because he won't be able to do anything else but to obey. And, like always, _Alpha Hale_ – and he never, ever thought of the title with such contempt before – will look like the perfect Pack leader. _Son of a bitch_.

«I presume you're speaking of James?». Peter's voice, dry with amusement, makes him realize that he said it out loud. Not that he regrets it, minds you. He opens his mouth to say so, when another thought hits him, and he feels panic rise and claw in his stomach.

What if this is about _Peter_? What if his Father wants information on him, or is searching for reasons to chase him away from the Pack for good? With their discussion last night...there is more than enough to accuse his uncle of treason. With just one question, Derek could destroy the last of Peter's links to the Pack. Because of Derek, he could become a true Omega.

 _Shit, shit, shit..._ Derek takes a deep breath. He needs to calm down. To think. There is necessarily a way. They can manage to escape that, they just need to...to...

«Derek?». Peter is crouched in front of him, hands on his shoulders, and it says much about Derek's state of agitation that he actually didn't notice his uncle before the man shoke him gently. «Derek, what's wrong?». Peter is frowning, and he smells of worry so much, Derek doesn't even have to concentrate to recognize it.

«Laura, she said Father wanted to see me and if he asks about you, about your Gift, I will be...». He stops, suddenly. Of course. What an imbecile he is. The solution is in front of him. Literally. «Peter...I need you to make me forget. If you do it, then...».

His uncle's finger presses on his lips, stopping the words. «Derek, calm down. Calm. I need you to explain, clearly, what's wrong. Can you do that?». Peter's composure makes Derek relax. He nods. «Good. I'm listening».

Derek takes a deep breath, and says «Laura said that Father wants to see me. Peter, he's Alpha. If he asks the good questions – and I may detest him right now, but I'm pretty sure he will - I won't be able to lie. And even if I managed...All he has to do is order me to tell the truth and we're both screwed. Which is why I need you to use your Gift and make me...I don't know, believe I actually _was_ at Brian last night, or something like it».

Peter visibly clenches his jaw, cursing under his breath. «Alright», he murmurs. He's tense, angry even, but his eyes are thoughtful. He's calculating, trying to come up with something, and Derek forces himself to shake off his lingering fear and actually think. Be useful, rather than a terrified mess.

«So», he asks slowly, «Could you? Make me believe? It would be a good solution, no?». But Peter is already shaking his head, frowning. «No, Derek. I can't be sure of the results, especially if I have to give your memories back later. When I used my gift on others, I never cared how messed up they ended. Still don't. But you...no. Besides, the situation is no that desperate».

Derek raises a doubtful eyebrow, and Peter's lips twitch a little. «I know it's not ideal, but I assure you, we can... _manage_ , as you put it. Come on,» he adds with a salacious smile in answer to Derek's very uncertain face, «you already know how to lie very well. You did hide your Gift for what, four years?».

«Five», he corrects. «And do I need to remind you I almost got caught less than two weeks ago?». «Only because you were ready to be caught in order to save your brother. Derek, my point is valid. If it hadn't been for John, you could have kept you secret for years more».

Derek shrugs. Peter clicks his tongue and continues. «You teleported, not only yourself, but also your brother, across seven miles. It's not the kind of thing you can do without training. And since you trained, it means you also lied about this training. And you weren't caught. Therefore, you already know how to lie perfectly well. QED».

Derek can't help a bark of tired laugher at that. He massages his temples a few seconds, than nods. «Ok. Ok. I'll do it». He's really trying to sound courageous, but his face probably betrays him, because Peter's hands drift to his cheeks, and he presses his brow against Derek's. « It's going to be fine, I swear». They stay like this for a minute, the warmth his uncle, the closeness of his scent progressively calming Derek frayed nerves. Finally, Peter draws back and smiles at him.

«You just need to learn a few things about Pack trials, birth rights and Alphas in general, and you'll do perfectly».


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7th chapter, again betaed by DevilPills who has all my thanks!
> 
> Enjoy!

Derek slows down from his run to finally come to a stop between the trees. For anybody else, this would be the middle of nowhere, but he pretty much grew up in this forest. He could walk through it with his eyes closed, and still know exactly where he is. 

And right now, he's at about twenty minutes from his house. At a walking pace. And since he intends to run...he has fifteen minutes to prepare himself.

Of all the things Peter told him earlier, there was one that was totally foreign to him: the right of birth. That is, the fact that, as a Hale by blood and full-member of the Pack, his Alpha can't get the truth out of him based on an order. It's a tactic reserved for outsiders or (supposed) traitors, but using it on another full-fledged Packmate is viewed as unacceptable. _Thank God._

Another right of his, that he would never have guessed, is the possibility to ask for breaks if he wishes so. Again, forceful, day-long kind of interrogations were apparently saved for presumed enemies. 

And he, Derek, as Peter had reminded him, may be questioned, but it was done without any proof of his Gift. There have been no witnesses. Just his father doubts. He was walking into this as a free man; there wasn't any official accusation, and therefore, he conserved all his rights.

The rest was no rules, but rather common sense. Things he more or less already knew, or guessed, like the fact that your heartbeat or scent betrays you only when you're lying outright. Lies by omission, however, register as truth as long as they are truth-based. And with the use of sensory survey authorized, he would have to be extra careful when lying.

In the end, the whole thing would either stay afloat or sink according to his quick-thinking. If he managed to answer with a good-looking lie by omission, at reasonable speed...everything should be alright. He just had to stay calm and open-minded, to be able to absorb any question, any surprise and react in a good way. A non-suspicious way.

Derek forcefully lets out a breath. Five minutes left, but it doesn't matter, not really. He can psych himself up all day , nothing will keep his heart from racing like a mad horse, and fear to claw at his insides.

Which isn't necessarily a bad thing. As he told his uncle earlier, it allows him to cover an eventual slip-up by making it look like anxiety. Peter had laughed at that, and said _«See, you're already adapting. You'll be more than fine, Derek. Don't worry»._

He's clinging to these words, to his uncle easy confidence in him, as he heads towards the house at full speed. Staying out in the woods will only make his tension rise even more. And anyway, he reflects, arriving in advance of the time he'd given Laura will placate his Father a little. Maybe. Ok, probably not.

But getting mad with worry won't help either, so...Here goes.

∼

Well, if he had any doubt about this being a trial, they had been quelled when he entered. One chair in the middle, facing the half-circle formed by the others, and the - carefully shut – door at his back...At least, they didn't put guards in the corridor. _Or tried to tie him in the chair, he mentally snickers._

Before this, he was still torn up, in a way. Yes, he had decided to trust Peter, to believe him. And he'd no intention of stopping to use his Gift. But they were his Pack still...

At the second he saw them all here, on their side of the room, and the lone chair in the middle, it had really registered. This was a trial. Free man he may be, the truth remained: his family was his judge. And they didn't seem especially hesitant about it, either.

It was at his moment that he'd felt it...not rage, not sadness or grief, but _defiance_ , welling up inside him like a growing tide. He'd bleed for them, would kill for them if he had to one day...and still they were standing here. James, Tahlia, Laura, David and Marie. The core of the Hale Pack, waiting for any slip to condemn him. 

But there wouldn't be slips. Derek refused to give them the satisfaction. If he were to leave the Pack, it would because he wanted it, and not because of a passed judgment by wolves that have no idea how it feels to be Gifted. How thrilling it is to know he can be anywhere he wishes in a seven miles radius in a matter of seconds.

Suddenly, he wholly understands Peter's decision to leave before the trial, to leave in order to be able to learn and experiment. Being Gifted is uncommon, maybe strange, probably dangerous...and it's the fucking best thing that ever happened to him. And screw anyone who doesn't agree.

«Derek». The call of his name cuts in his reflections, bringing him back to the present. His Father's voice is neutral, but his whole posture-chin up, shoulders straight and imperceptibly narrowed eyes – scream authority. «Sit».

Resisting the savage urge to retort he's no dog to be called on, Derek leaves the door frame to walk towards the chair. 

Defiance, he reflects, is very different from anger. It's not the heady rush that clouds the mind he's accustomed to. No, it's more subdued, embers instead of fire, but nonetheless glowing in his stomach, feeding him resolve and pride. 

He sits, back straight and chin held up. Let's get the show down the road.

∼

«Do you know about Gifts, Derek?».

Surprisingly, this first, coldly-asked question came from his mother, rather than his Father. Derek had thought the Alpha would ask the questions while the others would merely observe, but apparently this is an 'open trial' – thank you, Peter, for the logistics – which mean every member can ask any questions they want. Well, the answer to this one is easy.

«Yes, I do». Derek feels relieved when his voice doesn't waver, but carry easily across the room, loud and clear.

As the judged party, he can't ask questions of his own – of course – and he can't speak out of turn. He has, however, the right to answer the questions in any way he likes, as long as the question doesn't come with instructions. For the moment, he decided to keep his replies short and to the point, but if – or more like, when – he wants to give a longer, more detailed response, then the jury will have to hear him out, without interrupting - _thank you_ , Peter, for the logistics.

«How?». Ah, his Father. Sounding tense. Judgmental. Of course. Having the third child of the family being possibly Gifted is...unpleasant, certainly. Poor little Alpha.

For all his - strictly mental - vicious comments, Derek doesn't let his voice sound anything else than neutral when he says. «I read about it». _Which is the total truth, David, and if you want to listen to somebody's heartbeat, you could at least try to do it discreetly_ , he promptly adds in his head.

His Father eyes narrow. «Which one?». His voice is low, calm, but his lips thin when Derek retorts just as coolly «I forgot». Which, again, is true. Mostly. He read too much on the subject to remember all the titles.

«Was it given to you by Peter?». It's Laura, this time, and her sly, falsely innocent smile makes him want to fucking attack her. He simply grits his teeth, trying not to give away how much the hint at his closeness to his uncle bothers him.

He says, «No» as serenely as he can. Thank God, this too enters the lies-by-omission case. The first book that spook of the subject _had been_ given to him by Peter, but he had found and read many others since. And seeing that they're not speaking of this first book in particular, he can concentrates on one of the others as he answers, making his reply true.

«Do you like Peter?». Marie's voice and face are blank, but her eyes...her eyes know, and the imperceptible tilt of her mouth is almost pitying. Derek would probably take offense if he wasn't so busy inwardly cursing all he knows. His reaction to Laura's question earlier had probably been too noticeable. 

Problem is...there is no way around the query. He can't answer 'No' without lying, because he _does like_ Peter, very much, and...well, they never got into a serious argument, never had a row – seeing his uncle for a week, two or three times a year probably helped with that. So he can't use it to focus and lie. And he doesn't want to, not really. Not about that.

His answering «Yes» is just this side too much of defiant, he knows. But he can't help it. Peter is his uncle, yeah, but before that, he's Derek's best friend, at least in the werewolf world. When he needs advice, has questions, or simply wants to rant or cry or laugh, he goes to Peter. Well, when his uncle's here (for when he's not, Derek learned to handle things by himself pretty quickly).

But still, he owes his uncle a lot; likes him a lot more. Too much to want to downplay his affection, even for the sake of this charade. And since he doesn't have a choice in the matter anyway, he's not going to try and look ashamed. It may be a stupid decision from a strategic point of view, but Derek is nothing if loyal to a fault.

On the other side of the room, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Marie and Thalia exchange a quick glance. Finally, his mother turns back to him. «Derek...», she begins, and the sudden gentleness in her voice make alarm bells ring in his head, «...I'm sorry you have to learn it that way, but Peter isn't...the man you think he is. He's dangerous, very much so».

Derek blinks. Okay. This is...unexpected. He thought they were going to fall on him like vultures after his admission, but his mother looks...sorry for him? A bit like Marie earlier, in fact. What the fuck? A few seconds pass in silence before he realizes his mother is waiting for him to say something. «I...don't have any idea what to say actually», he slowly responds, and damn him if this isn't the truest thing to come out of his mouth since the start of this mess.

«You told me you know about Gifts. Well...Peter is Gifted». Derek is aware he should try and look horrified or something, but he's still coming back from the – very weird – U-turn in the conversation. His mother keeps looking at him with a sad air, and he...doesn't know what to do. He came in this ready to...well, to fight, metaphorically speaking. To pup up with accusations, anger, maybe even contempt. Being faced with sympathy is leaving him floundering. 

«I...». _I, what? I am Gifted? I know that Peter is? I don't think being Gifted is bad?_ He's trying, but nothing else is coming up. No good omission-lie. «...didn't know». It's a lame, weak comeback, and, if it registers as truth, it's by pure chance, because there _was_ indeed a time when he didn't know.

His mother hums gently, face open in a way Derek didn't see in a long time. «I understand», she says with a small smile. Derek can't help but smile back, a little shyly. With the exception of Peter, it's been a while since a family member seemed to really like him, instead of ignoring him (pre-John) or rejecting him (post-John).

But, the same way Peter isn't his brother, Thalia isn't her husband. Maybe, if Derek explains, she will listen? She seems to be ready to give him the benefit of the doubt. And Marie, too, looks friendly. Derek swallows. If they stand up for him, maybe he could tell the story and...not be kicked out? Stay in the Pack, even though he's Gifted?

After all, Peter said it himself: he didn't stay for the trial. If his uncle had given it a chance, maybe...Derek closes his eyes a second. Maybe, maybe, maybe...you can rebuild the world with maybes. He's getting far, far ahead of himself.

And besides, even if they were ready to make exception for him, what of Peter? Didn't he sworn to himself this morning he wouldn't let his uncle down? His promises – to himself or otherwise – can't be that frail, can't they? 

He needs to think, alone. Needs time, to clear his head - and his heart – of the low hum of hope that's clouding his mind, of his mother's words and smile.

He notices Marie opening her mouth and before he loses his nerves, he blurts out, urgent and half-desperate, «I want a break».

∼

Five minutes into his fifteen-minutes decreased break. Derek is certain of two things: one, Peter couldn't have made a worse choice for a secret keeper, and two, he is a weak-hearted, helpless _moron._

It took Thalia a smile and a gentle tone, and here he was, wiggling his metaphoric tail like an idiotic dog, ready to throw away his secret – and Peter's – for a little bit of attention, and the foolish idea of acceptance.

He lets his head fall against the wall at his back with a loud thud. Fuck, is he _that_ starved for affection? Sure, he'd been lonely sometimes in the past, but...it didn't really bother him. He _is_ a loner. He likes the calm. Over-energetic people and crowded places tire or bore him quickly; when the Pack houses guests, he generally stays long enough to be polite, and then retires to curl up on his bed with a book or his laptop.

It's not that he isn't sociable when he wants to be – he's well liked at school, even helped a few classmates on sport or lit lessons. It's just that at the end of the day, acquaintances and friends are two very different things for him. With Brian, he's perfectly at ease, with others, he stays on his reserve. He never, ever saw himself as lonely.

But now...he's not sure anymore. If it's not loneliness, then why would he be hungering for Pack as he does? Yes, they're family. Sure. They'll never stop being family, no matter what happens today. And yet...yet, for this minute earlier, he would have done almost anything to be able to stay, to be accepted. If he hadn't remembered his word about Peter...

Seriously, what the _hell_ is wrong with him? First he feels defiant enough to take on the Pack and win, and next second he deflates like a pierced ball. Did he turn bipolar without noticing, or what? He... David's scent and the rhythm of his footsteps cut through his reflections. 

«It's time, Derek». The voice is emotionless, just like his brother's face. Derek doesn't answer out loud, simply nods. 

He'll angst about his life later. Right now, it's time to get his bearings back, and get out of this clusterfuck as unscathed as he can. And preferably with all his secrets intact.


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here chapter 8, betaed version!  
> Enjoy!

While following David back on the third floor, Derek is trying to think. Not that it helped a lot for the first part of the trial, mind you, but...he can't go in and act without keeping his head and his wits. So, thinking.

Okay. First thing is, he still doesn't know what the fuck was happening fifteen minutes ago with his mother. What the hell was he thinking, to act like this? It was like...trying to not drink offered water after days without it; a powerful tug, sudden and nearly inescapable.

And he doesn't have any idea what it was – well, not exactly. He has something of a theory. It's not even a theory, actually, more a – very – vague idea. The kind of idea he needs to discuss with Peter, because he's just guessing. Which means, he can't do anything about it right now.

Second point, Thalia herself. It's kind of sad, but Derek's not sure she was honest in her understanding. As far as he remembers, he always saw her stand by her husband. But on the other hand, he saw them in public, so he supposes it could be a question of presenting an united front. 

As for Marie...it's the weirdest of the lot, actually, because his grandmother absolutely _loves_ her son and Laura. She never was unkind with Derek, but never kind, either. More...unaffected by him, no matter what he did. Seeing her apparently ready to suddenly take his side is rather confusing.

He inwardly sighs. Maybe he's just turning paranoïd. He's not sure. Worst case scenario would be his mother playing a role to make him...do what? Or rather _say_ what? That he's Gifted? But now that he's reflecting about it, there wasn't any question in that sense. The fist query about him knowing Gifts or not aside, the whole thing has been more about Peter than him.

In which case, he doesn't get it. Let's say this indeed is about Peter. He doesn't see why. Everybody in the Pack knows that his uncle is Gifted, and that he was kicked out because of it. What, he, Derek, could add to this? All Peter told him, James already knows. If his Father didn't brand Peter a traitor all these years ago, then how Derek could change anything to the situation?

He silently curses. He just dosen't understand. He's not sure if it's because he's missing a piece of the puzzle, or just because he's not used to think three steps ahead like Peter – there _is_ a reason he's getting his ass handed to him every chess match, after all – but he just doesn't see the whole picture.  
And he doesn't have the time to twist his neurones about it any longer. They're in front of the door.

David doesn't knock. He goes straight in, head held high and face solemn. In short, he looks like a pompous arse. Even more so when he actually _bows his head_ at James. Derek does his best to _not_ raise a disbeliveing eyebrow. Tradition is okay – to a certain extent at least, because his notions of «tradition» have been seriously tried these last few weeks – and he can understand the need to show respect. But this is....something between pathetic and disgusting. 

He silently wows to himself that his Father can go fuck himself if he expects Derek to do the same, but, to James credit, he seems rather put-off by the show of obedience. It's always nice to know your Father isn't a total bastard. Not especially comforting in the end, but nice all the same.

«Derek», his mother calls after David is seated. «Please, sit down». Still with the politness, Derek notices. He sits. If he manages to stay calm and alert, maybe he will understand what they want from him. Game on, then.

∼

It's Marie who takes up on the following question. Not really surprising, since he cut her off when he asked a break. His grandmother tone is...not affectionate, but pretty mild, coming from her. «As I was about to say earlier...There are many things about Peter that you don't know about. The more important one being his Gift.». She stops, looking at him, maybe waiting for him to interrupt, but Derek simply nods to demonstrate his attention.

There is a flicker of something in Marie's eyes, a flash of doubt that last barely a second, but Derek sees it, just like he notices that his Father and Laura exange a quick, somber glance. It's crazy, all the little things you can notice when you make the effort of really paying attention.

Marie is looking at him closely when she continues. «We...don't exactly know what he can do. For all he admitted being Gifted, Peter never answered more precisely to our questions. But whatever it is, it allowed him to kill twenty-four werewolves – six of them Gifted - and about seven hundred humains».

Derek can't help his flinch. He knew of these kills, of course, but hearing a number put on Peter's 'humain sacrifices'....Seven hundred. God. He knows his uncle only did out of desperation, but still. Seven hundred lives, all gone in a conflict they didn't even know about. He understands the why, but the pill is still hard to swallow. _And yet_ , he reminds himself, _you would have done it to, if necessary. Don't be an hypocrite._

Time to face the music and definitely get over it: Peter killed seven hundred people. And Derek is not letting him down, and that's final. 

So, what now? If he didn't know of Peter actions, what would his natural reaction? What did he do yesterday? Flinch, of course, be horrified, angry and then...Asking why. So he swallows, does his best to look shaken – which is not that difficult because _seven hundred people_ – and asks tensely, «Why would he do that?».

He's actually pretty interested by the answer, too. Somehow, he doubts that _'he did it to save us'_ will be the first forthcoming explanation. He's not overly surprised when James answers, taking over on Marie.

«He wanted to kill an ennemy Pack. And he decided, I quote, 'that the end justified the means'». Derek bites his tongue to keep from retorting that it's not true, or at last not totally. That there's so much more than a petty revenge or desire of destruction, that in the end, the whole thing was about protecting his family. He's not meant to know that. 

He still open his mouth – to say what, he's not sure yet – when Laura suddenly scoffs, and cuts him off, sounding exasperated. «He already knows that, Dad», and the fact that she actually gets to call him 'dad' when Derek is expected to use 'father' stings more than he would have throught.

Her eyes narrow at Derek as she continues. «I told him to ask Peter about the Lauren Pack. And I'm sure he did. Didn't you, brother?».

Okay. Looks like the beating-around-the-bush part of the afternoon is over. Trying to lie about this is too tricky to risk it. Time to use his right to a longer answer. Derek takes a breath, and begins.

«I indeed asked», he admits, imperceptibly incling his head at his Father and Mother in silent acknowlegment of his precedent lie. «He answered me honestly, explaining he did it because he felt it was the only way to save his Pack». 

He sees his James frowns, visibly ready to object, so he quickly adds, «From what he told me, you fought against the Lauren Pack once and took quite the beating. Since you couldn't owerpower them, he decided to try another way, and it worked».

«At the price of seven thousand lives», Marie snaps. Derek hesitates. The urge to say 'you were the ones who wanted to go on a suicidal assault' is burning his tongue, but he's not sure it's a good idea. As long as his understanding of what happened that day seems minimal, he can still downplay his relationship with Peter. If the people here realise he's as close to his uncle as he is, he can forget any chance to explain himself. Or to keep his secrets.

«He believed it was the only way to save you all», he finally settles on. «Maybe he was wrong but he did it because he wanted to protect his own. I can respect that».

«He's a murderer», James corrects, voice harsh. «His intentions don't excuse his actions and their results. Seven thousand lives, Derek. You can't really tell me you forgive that?».

Derek swallows, allows himself to close his eyes a second. So this is the end, then. He can see it in his Father whole cold demanor, in Thalia and Marie sudden attention, in Laura barely masked disgust and David's contemptuous expession. This is the question that ends it all. The one who'll create the last rift between them.

This was never about Gifts, Derek finally understands. Or about Peter. This, this whole thing...it was a way to test his loyalty. James may be too afraid of what Peter can do to allow him to stay – he saw the results of his brother's Gift, after all – but he's also smart enough to realise the possible advantages of a Gifted wolf in his Pack. As long as said wolf's loyalty is without question, of course.

But that's where the rub is, isn't it? He not an exact paragon of loyalty. Not that he is a traitor either, of course, but still, he spends more time on his own than with his Packmates – which is not his fault alone, but, whatever. He's not as close to the Pack as he could be, that's for sure. Never was. 

If you imagine the Pack as all of the members thightly knitted together, then Derek always has been more loosely tangled in the yarn. And he's always been terrified of seeing these bonds disappear.

By his answer to his Father's question, he can either go back in the midst, or cut the threads once and for all. His Alpha's stance on the question of Peter was clearly stated; he just has to agree and he can become Pack anew. If he shows his submission, if he bends his will to his Father's, he'll get the right to stay.

But to stay for what? To execute orders, be forced to shut up and prove his good faith, again and again and again?. He clenches his teeth. Even knowing that, knowing it wouldn't be worth it in the end, he can't help it: still and always, there's a part of him who yearns for Pack desperately. Exactly like earlier, before the break. Like a hook in his gut, pulling harder and harder.

But he won't let himself be stringed along, this time. He manages to keep a clear head, enough to know that giving in would be a mistake. He clung to the Pack for years, terrified of being kicked out. Terrified of being alone. But he never belonged, not really. Too different. Too weird. Gifted. And now, not loyal enough.

Except he is. He's very loyal. But loyalty should be earned, not expected. Peter earned his trust when he took the time to listen to Derek when anyone else was so quick to dimiss him. He earned his friendship after heir first debate, full of tease and laugher. And he earned his loyalty when he looked Derek in the eyes and told him, point-blank, that he killed three quarters of a town.

His Pack, through...he can't remember a time when any of them showed this kind of trust. His loyalty to them comes from the natural desire to protect his family. It's instinct. 

His loyalty to Peter comes from affection, mutal trust and understanding, in a way the Pack never could – would – provide. In the end, as harsh as it may sound...he choice is already made.

Derek lifts his head, chin held high and sure, and says, «I told you – all of you – that I understand why Peter did it. And because I understand...Yes, I can forgive». Only silence greets his answer. Silence, and his mother disappointed look. 

«I should have listened to your sister», James says finally. «She warned me of your...closeness to Peter. But I wanted to believe my son, an Alpha son, was better than that». His Father falls silent once more, and finally shakes his head. «Get out, Derek. None of us want to be in your presence right now».

Derek does get out, without a word. There's nothing to add, anyway.

∼

Derek eyes are perfectly dry when he types his message. _Can I come? Need to see you._ The _Of course_ chimes in when he's already halfway to Peter's motel. Not that it would have mattered. It's like the idea of going to Peter is the only thing holding him together.

He doesn't even have to get in the building. His uncle is waiting in the hall, and he instantly gets up and out to meet Derek the second he takes one look at his face. His hand closes on his nephew wrist and he has the time to say «Derek...», voice alarmed, before something in Derek seems to shatter.

He grabs Peter's jacket, tugs him close, and buries his face into his uncle neck, taking desperate glups of the familiar scent of leather and forest and _Peter_. He hears him curse lowly, before Peter's arms close around him in return, holding tightly, fiercely, while Derek shakes and shakes and shakes, desperately burying his tears in Peter's warm skin.


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaed version disponible, thanks to El!
> 
> Enjoy!

Derek wakes up slowly. Even the simple action of prying his eyes open seem to be an effort. When he finally manages to lift his eyelids, he finds himself blinking at a very unfamiliar wooden ceilling. He stares, and then frowns at his own lack of reaction.

He's in an unknown location, in a state of tiredness. He should be on the verge of wolfing out. Or, at the very least, alarmed. But he isn't. He feels...strangely detached. Like he's being held behind a veil. He knows how he should react, but everything feels...muted somehow. 

He blinks once more, in slow motion, and forces himself to get up on an elbow to look around. And realises he's in isn't in a separated room. The bed he's in is in a corner, probably to leave space for the rest of the furniture. 

A kitchenette stand in the opposite corner, on the other side of the room, besides a table and chair. On the same side, in front of Derek, a TV sits on a chair, a few meters from him. The other wall is entierly taken up by a bookcase, and a single but plushy-looking armchair. Rather spartan, but perfectly functional.

Plently aware of how late the action is – it should have his first reflex, what the fuck is wrong with him? - he takes a deep breath. He's not overly surprised to discover the whole room smells of Peter. Strongly enough that Derek's sure the place is used pretty regularly.

Okay. So, it seems he's at Peter's. Not sure how he got there, through. Or where, exactly, is 'there'. He wasn't even aware his uncle owned a house. A little house, but still, it's sure as hell more comfy than the motel. And, well..it's free. He guesses. Anyway, point is, why did Peter stay in the cheap motel of Beacon Hills if he could be here instead? Are they that far from the town?

Once again hit by the slowness of what should normally be a primary instinct, he lets his senses expand, taking in any clue he can. It becomes immediatly evident he's in the middle of the forest; the distinctive smell of wood, lichen and rain is unmistakable, as is the scent of small preys and the song of the birds.

Except for the light scent of gasoline – Peter's car, he thinks – there isn't any trace of the town's smog, so they're rather deep in the woods. Suddenly tired again – fuck, there is something wrong, he's sure, because feeling that tired after so little effort is certainly not normal – he let himself fall back on the bed.

At last, his brain visibly works well – thank God – because this weird weariness isn't preventing him from thinking and rummaging trough his memories, trying to dig up either the reason or the way he ended up here.

Last think he remembers is his Father voice, cold, so cold, telling him to get out. Telling him nobody in the Pack wants to see him anymore. Derek swallows the hurt back with a shaky exale. It's not the moment to let the emotions take over. He forces himself to keep going along his recollection of the day. 

He thinks he called – or was it a text? - his uncle somehow, recalls vividly Peter's scent, sharp and soothing, filling his senses, the only thing that could have calmed him at this moment. He remembers the older wolf strong, fierce embrace, reassuring and grounding, and then...

Then, he's not sure. He thinks Peter steered him towards his car – it'd smelled of leather and gaz. He can recall the rumble of the engine, the warmth of another hand on his, squeezing so hard that it should have been painful, but it just had been so, so comforting. From there, it's a black hole until his waking about fifteen minutes ago. 

He fell asleep on the way to the house, probably. Still, the fact that Peter moved him from the car to the bed without him waking up is...a little frightening. Feeling somebody coming to him, moving in his personal space, should have woken Derek almost immediately, even if the person was a trusted one. It's one of these bone-deep, unshakable wolf instincts that endure, no matter what you try to get rid of them.

It's just like his heightened senses. All the wolf-reflexes that should be coming to him naturally aren't answering as usual. He has to figuratively push and pull to get them to work, and it's sure as hell not normal. Even when he was a child, the problem was to keep the instinct in, not to force it out. He never felt that way before; he's not feeling ill in any way, just tired. But he still barely manage to call on his werwolf abilities.

Derek closes his eyes briefly to try and calm down. Being afraid is normal; but panicking won't help anything. He needs to be sensible about this: if there was something that wrong with him, he's pretty sure Peter wouldn't have left him here by himself. And, hell, he's not dying, just tired, and he can still move. So, priorities.

He may not know where his fatigue is coming from, but eating something won't hurt. Maybe he'll feel better once he'll have gluped down a coffee. And after, he can look in Peter's books...or maybe go around the house a little, if he really feels up to it. He nods to himself decisively, and pushes the cover back.

Derek stands, streches carefully, but he's not hurting anywhere, and the movement doesn't make him feels more tired. So, it's really coming from the werewolf side. He sighs and forces throught away. He said eating and drinking something before worrying. He slips in his shoes and goes put the coffee machine on.

In the end, he eats a quickly-made sandwich and then curls up on the armchair by the bookcase with a coffee. The warmth of the cup and the heady smell help him relax, and he lets himself be cradled by the back of the chair. He intends to close his eyes just for a minute, but finds himself half-dozing pretty quickly. He probably even would have gone back to sleep if Peter hadn't slipped in the home, footsteps silent and careful.

Derek stirs on his chair, murmurs «I'm awake», and Peter grins. Forgetting the stealth, he crosses the room, and, to his nephew's surprise, nuzzles gently, if briefly, at his neck before asking «How do you feel?». Derek blinks, vaguely answers, «Better» on autopilot, while processing the fact that _Peter_ just nosed at his neck. 

In itself, it's not surprising. This kind of affectionate gestures are very common among Pack. But for Peter to actually do it...his uncle may be a warm person, but he's not very tactile. Not in the way Derek saw the rest of the Pack be, all causal touches and affection at any time of the day. Sometimes, he wonders how they manage school hours, when they can't be all over each other.

As for himself, he never really was a touchy-feely king of guy – one more weirdness from him – so Peter's way to keep touching to a rather rare event always has been more than fine with him. And even when they _did_ touch, it stayed on hand and arms. 

Necks, through...well, Derek would have believed necks were off-limits, with being weaknesses and all, but apparently Peter thinks otherwise, and Derek...maybe he should have flipped out, but he didn't. It was surprisingly nice, even. And besisdes, if he remembers well, he did it first, when he buried his face in his uncle's neck. Anyway. Point.

Yes, so, point is, for Peter to actually nuzzle at him that... «How bad was it?», he asks hesitantly, «I mean, for you to come back and...nose at me like that?». He doesn't want to make it sound like he has a problem with it. He doesn't. It's just...so out of character, it makes him wonder how worried Peter was about him.

His uncle, who had been making himself coffee, momentarly pauses, before he goes back to pouring the liquid in his cup. He throws two spoons of sugar in, and only then, turns to face Derek and asks, calmly, «Did I offend you? By touching you without asking permission first?». Oh, great. Just what Derek doesn't want him to think. «Not at all», he hastens to correct. «If so, I would have told you. I just...». He's not sure how to end.

Peter, visibly more relaxed, takes one of the chairs besisdes the table and comes to sit in front of his nephew. «You just?», he repeats, curious. Derek tries to finds his words. «You don't generally touch people that causally. You did it because you were relieved. Still are». He takes a deep breath to illustrate, calling on his sense of smell by sheer will. «So...». He closes his eyes a second, to contain the wave of tireness, and ends «So, for you to be that reassured by seeing me awake, I guess it had to be pretty bad».

His uncle frowns a bit, and says «I wouldn't do that if I were you». When Derek rises an interrogative, weary eyebrow, he precises, «Using your sense of smell. Or any other, for that matter. Not unless you want to go back to sleep for hours. Again».

Derek sighs. He can feel a deep headache beginning to pound at his temples. He lets his head fall back on the top of the chair, trying to relieve the pressure in his neck and calm the impeding migraine. It's not the moment. «Ok», he answers, voice low. «I won't. In exchange, will you tell me what the fuck is wrong with me?».

«Right now? Not much, just extreme tiredness due to your – repeated, I assume – use of werewolf abilities. It will pass soon». Derek nods, eyes half-closed; it's true, he feels the exhaustion starts to slowly slide away already. Still, it doesn't answer the why of his...unexpected and sudden disability for all werewolf-related aptitude. Or, now that he thinks of it, of his headache.

«Is the way my head hurts part of the normal package?». He meant to say it in a joking manner, but it comes out more pitiful than anything. He cringes internally. That sounded pathetic. He opens his mouth to try and add something less ridiculous, but before he can formulate the words, Peter extends a hand, palm up.

«I can help with that, if you wish». There's sympathy in his uncle eyes, but not a hint of pity, and Derek knows the offer's sincerely meant. Not to mention very throughtful. He slowly lifts a hand to place it in Peter's. Looking at the dark threads , appearing like a spider's web over his uncle's veins, he admits, voice low. «Seeing you being all...careful around me is beginning to freak me out».

Peter smiles ruefully at him. «I am that bad?», he asks, tone amused, but eyes still serious. Derek grimaces. He really sounds like a jerk. His uncle is being gentle and taking his pain away. And it's _nice_ , but...«Just a bit?», he answers like it's a question, and Peter chuckles.

He releases his nephew's hand, lounges back in his onw chair, and nods. «Alright. Since it's apparently so evident...I am indeed relieved to see you up and going around. Especially so quickly. It's...surprisingly resilient from you». 

Derek stares, confused about what to do with the answer. «Thanks?», he tries, unsure. Peter frowns, cocks his head to the side. «You're not following me at all, do you?», he murmurs, and Derek can only shake his head.

«Sorry, but I really don't». It's Derek's turn to frown. Okay. Maybe this will become clear if they try to answer question after question. «Why do you act like I'm in glass, or something? I just feel tired, that's all».

Peter's eyes narrow. «Derek», he asks gently. «What day are we?». Derek swallows, sudden fear constricting his stomach. «What day?», he repeats shakily, «I don't...». He takes a breath, trying to quell all the crazy ideas going around in his head. Peter may be relieved, but he isn't alarmed, so it can't have been that long. «I throught we were july, 31», he answers as calmly as he can manage. "The same day of the trial. But we're not, are we?».

«No», Peter says, and Derek could kiss him for the calm of his tone. «We're august, 2». For all the impassiveness of his face, he's watching Derek very closely, and he rises an eyebrow when his nephew falls back in his chair and mutters fervently, «Thank god» to the ceiling.

Derek takes a deep breath. Two days. He missed two days. It's good. Or at last, it's not too bad. Better than the whole five-years-gap scenario he was imagining earlier, at any rate. He can work with two missing days. 

He gets his attention back on Peter, who's looking at him like he's not sure he should be amused or worried. «What?», he asks, and Peter lips twitch, definitely going with amused. «I», his uncle annouces, «am absolutely dumfounded by your ability to rebound from anything people say or do to you». At Derek's frown, he precises, «The Lauren Pack, my Gift, and now James' rejection...you're pretty solid».

 _James' rejection..._ Derek shivers. He almost forgot it, in the midst of the conversation. And Peter's presence was, as always, soothing. Grounding. But now, he remembers. He's been thrown out of his Pack. He doesn't know if the annonce has to be official, but it doesn't matter; the fact is still here. He's a wolf without a Pack, now. An Omega.

Derek bites his tongue on the whine caught in his troat. He's _not_ going to cry. He knew, the second he refused to back down and betray Peter, what price he would pay. He knew. So he's not going to _fucking_ cry. But for all his resolve, his vision is dangerously bright, and his eyes are burning fiercely. 

He closes them, clenches his jaw even harder, to the point he can hear his teeth grind. Peter's arm silds around his shoulders, squezzing tight, but he doesn't try to offer any platitudes. He just stay here, silent, like he could stay up besides a shaking Derek all day and not mind. The young wolf takes deep inhales of his uncle scent, and, slowly, feels himself calm down.

He quickly dries his eyes, swallows. It was the second time he cried since the start of this...this mess. And, he swears to himself, it will be the last. If Peter can live as an Omega, then so can he. He was barely speaking with his Packmates, anyway; never felt really at ease. Too different. Too weird. Well, he may be a freak, but at last he will be a strong freak. _No more crying_ , he silently wows to himself once again. _Assume your choices with your head held high_. He nods once, decisively, sealing his promise.

«Peter», he asks, and to his great satisfaction, his voice is cold rather than quivering, «you didn't tell me why I slept for two days». The weight of his uncle's arm disappear, but the man stays where he is, presence close and reassuring. «Maybe», he begins carefully, «you should...».

«No». The answer is harsh and immediate, whipping out across Peter's quiet tone. Almost panicked. «No», Derek repeats, more calmly. «I'm fine». He turns his head and catch Peter's eyes, silently trying to convey what he can't bring himself to say : _Please, go with it, because I need you to treat me normally. If you keep being so gentle, I will really break down._

«You always were honest with me» Derek says instead. «Even when you told me about the Lauren Pack, you were frank about it, even if you knew I could decide to reject you and leave. I want you to keep being frank. Tell me. _Please_ ».

Only silence answers him, and for a terrifying second, Derek think Peter will refuse to explain, tell him to sleep some more or something, and leave him with his questions and barely-repressed fears. But Peter never let him down, and this time isn't an exception. He hears his uncle sigh to his left, before Peter rounds the chair to crouch in front of Derek.

«Very well», he says. He shakes Derek's shoulders gently, eyes intent. «But only that. I'll tell you why you fell asleep for two days, but that's it. Had I realised you hadn't dealt with your Pack's rejection's yet, I wouldn't even have begun this disscussion». His lips thin. «I should have known something was off», he adds tensly. «But you seemed so matter-of-fact about the whole thing...I throught that maybe, your link to the Pack had been loose enough for you to get back from it that quickly».

Derek bites his lip. «Get back...from what?», he asks slowly. He knows already, he thinks. It goes with his theory, earlier, about the why of his desesperate yearn of Pack. It was like a tug, and the image had made him think that maybe, there was some kind of instinct – more than simple familial instinct – that made him cling to the idea of Pack. After all, wolves aren't made to be alone. They're very social animals, and humans are, by nature, social beings as well. So, he throught that ther could be a...link of sort, to the Pack. Something like a...

«...the Pack bond», Peter ends, and Derek realises he didn't listen to anything his uncle just said. «I...sorry, I zoned out a bit. What did you say?». «I said», Peter repeats patiently, «that the link to his Pack for a wolf goes deeper than family and blood connections. At the core, there's a self-preservation instinct that make you very reluctant to the idea of leaving your Pack. It's only natural in the animal reign because being alone is a weakness. Some of this...inclination...passed down to us. Hence the wariness of Omegas, and the fear of becoming one. We call this instinct the Pack bond».

«So...you become Omega when this pack bond breaks, yes?». Peter nods. «Exactly. And before you ask me the relation with your two day sleep...». Derek hastly closes his mouth under Peter amused gaze, which turns serious when he continues «The breaking of a Pack bond is a trauma all on his own. A rather serious one, I may add, even if it varies according to your closeness to your Pack – which is why I throught that maybe, you would be less affected».

Peter's tumb begins a gentle stroke over Derek's shoulder when he adds, «Obviously I was wrong. I'm sorry, Derek. I didn't mean to upset you». Derek shakes his head, reaching out to squezze his uncle's wrist in reassurance. «Don't be», he says. «I don't regret it. I think...I think maybe it was time to let go». He can't help his rueful bark of laugher. «It was a little more harsh that what I imagined but...the end result is the same». He shrugs, trying to look unaffected – which isn't very succeesful, if Peter's frown is anything to go by.

But his uncle probably wants to end the conversation quickly, because because he doesn't comment, and simply continues, «Just like every trauma – physical or otherwise – your body and abilities shut down, to give you time to heal and rest. It's called a healing trance; based on the gravity of the injury, it can go from simple, brief dizzyness to years long coma. Two days...two days isn't nothing, but it's not enough either, as proven earlier. You need more rest».

Peter helds up a hand to forestall any objections, not that Derek would have objected – he knows enough to mull that over while he lies in bed. There's no need to protest. It's all the art of choosing his battles. So he nods sagely – and earns a surprised, but pleased smile from Peter.

Derek goes and shuffles back to the bed, intent on thinking about all his newfound knowledge. Except his plans are thwarted the second his head hits the pillow. Tiredness rushes in, sudden and inescapable, like a not so uncomfortable weight pinning him on the matress. He can't find the will to move. He feels good, deliciously warm. He goes under without even noticing.


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here chapter 10, betaed by El. Thanks a lot, dear!
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter pivots gracefully, ducks under what's probably an elbow – unless it's a high-kick, Derek's not sure – before grabing...whatever part he's imagining he's grabing, and twisting it harshly enough to break bone, before laping backwards. He's already in guard when he finishes his jump.

For all the fluidity of the movements, Derek has to admit he's still a little perplexed. Because, let's face it: the imaginary fight under his eyes may be incredible precise, full of a wild grace that speaks of a control he can only dream of having...the fact that his uncle his doing that without any actual oppenent is...well, it's not unlike Don Quixote tilting at windmills. It makes you seems like some kind of weird madman. _Katas_ , he reflects, _have a way to make you look like a bit crazy no matter how well you do them._

He, for one, isn't convinced by the concept. He can understand it: it's true repetition assure you better results in terms of speed, equilibrum and reflexes. At least, for an human. But werewolves already have all of these things naturally, at a level that equals and even surpass whose of greatest human athletes. 

And as for training...katas don't teach you anything of the pressure of a fight, or of the way it feels to break bones, or have them broken by another. Katas don't make you aware of the adrenalin, of the pain or the panic that can overwhelm you. He not saying it's totally useless...just too far from reality to be of use when your life's on the line.

Which is why Derek's sitting cross-legged, back popped against the bark of a tree, a book open on his lap. Well, that, and the fact he's not yet able to join the spar. According to Peter, he'll be back at top form in about two days, but until then, trying to force the processus will just slow it down even more. So, of course, no fights. If it wasn't for his uncle's books, Derek would probably have blown a fuse already.

Just like every wolf, he doesn't like closed spaces and inactivity. Even outside the phases of the full moon, there's always this light buzz in his muscles, like his wolf is only waiting for him to let go and just run and jump and hunt. Thalia often said that young wolves were like children on a permanent sugar high, and it was a rather apt description. And wolves in their teenage years weren't any better.

Being sat here, looking at Peter's spar moves, makes him want to join in, to jump on his feet, shift and try to go through his uncle guard until they're both out of breath and healing from divers bruises and broken bones – or more accurately, he thinks with a rueful smile, until he gets his ass handed to him. But even that idea can't calm the wolf crawling under his skin, urging him to bare his teeth and _fight._

Letting his head fall back against the trunk, Derek sighs. God, he hates this. It makes him feel like he's tied down metaphorically as well as physically. 

But at the same time, he knows he only has himself to blame. Nobody forced him to go and find Peter to see him train this morning. Truth was, Derek had been bored, and a bit lonely in a way he often felt since the breaking of the Pack bond. So, upon waking alone, he had gluped down a coffee, chosen a book, and gone out in search of Peter.

When he had found him, his uncle was streching, and Derek had slipped past him to sit unobtrusively in the shadow of a tree. Peter had noticed him, of course, but he hadn't raised any objections, so Derek had made himself confortable and begun to read. 

And while _Alpha and Beta: relationship and rank_ , was an interesting read, he had found his attention slipping away rather quickly to focus on the man in the center of the clearing. At first, it just has been admiration for the speed and yet incredible precision of the blows. 

Derek had never saw Peter grow even the hint of a fang if it wasn't what he wanted, and while he had always found this control of the shift impressive, he had thought it was something that came with age and experience. But when he saw Peter's incisiveness in his movements, and his evident concentration, he had wondered if such level of rigor didn't came with training rather than naturally. 

One throught calling to another, he had found himself fighting a growing desire to do the same. To finally shake off the breaking of the bond and come back to his old self. To be able to train, to spar and to go to Peter to do it. To learn more than with books – beacuse call him brutal or wild but he always throught you learn much about yourself and other when you're beating the shit out of each other.

Violence isn't as shocking or objectionable to his species. In the wild, real wolves don't hesitate to spill blood to make a point; and while werewolves are less quick to resort to that level of agressiveness – they _do_ try to go unoticed among humans, after all – spars and full out fights aren't exactly rare. And for beings of their stamina and strength and their kind of instincts, better take it out on a Packmate who can actually hit back and heal than on a school friend. The results wouldn't be pretty.

Derek sighs once more, and decides he doesn't need to go on a maudlin self-pity trip in front of Peter. Actually, he rectifies internally, he doesn't need to go on a self-pity trip _at all_. Dammit, he's not that badly off: he's a fucking werewolf, he has a house to return to, an uncle who also his best friend...it's better than many people. _Get a fucking grip, Hale. You really don't have the right to complain._

Derek determinedly jumps to his feet – staying will only make him feel more and more restless. And it's his turn to prepare lunch, anyway. But the movement was probably too sudden, because Peter instantly interrupts his katas to stare at him. «Derek?», he calls, visibly surprised. «Is everything alright?». «Yeah», Derek hurriedly assures. «Didn't mean to starle you. I'm sorry. I was just thinking of...». 

Derek interrupts himself swiftly. His tendancies to speak what's on his mind without hesation when he's around Peter aren't always the best. The man's here for him each and every time he needs, answers his questions, feeds him...Derek doesn't want to whine about his problems all the time. Peter does enough to help him already.

«...I was just thinking I forgot to go shopping for luch», he finishes. It's a bit lame, but it's the truth. «If I go now, I can avoid too much queue». Peter nods his understanding, and Derek's about to go when his uncle adds «You can take the car, if you want».

Derek stops dead and stares. «Seriously?» he murmurs. A grin is already tugging at his lips, irrepressible. Visibly amused by his entoushiasm, Peter shrugs his agreement. «Sure, as long as you don't crash it...». «No, of course not». He's trying to sound serious, but he can't help it. He's still laughing madly when he disappears between the trees.

∼

Derek parks smoothly besides the store. He swears, if he didn't love Peter as much as he does, he would kill him in his sleep just to steal his car. _Aston Martin V8 Vantage Roadster_. Lucky bastard. He doesn't have the slighest idea how Peter could buy himself this monster, but he would pay dearly to know the trick. Not to self: learn how to get a big, class sport car. Maybe a Chevrolet Camaro; he finds it very styled. He'll ask, for sure.

He gets out, closes the door behind him, set the alarm...he's mentally repeating his shop list when he hears the call of his name, sharp and clear, carrying across the parking lot. _Fuck, no,_ he prays, _please tell me I'm wrong_. But even if the other is downwind, there's no mistaking this voice. David.

Briefly, Derek caresses the idea of making a run for it, plunging in the driver seat and rolling away at top speed. Even a wolf can't follow an Aston at top speed. But no. The day he runs from his pompous arse of a brother is the day he goes and digs his tomb with wolfbane before throwing himself in it. So he turns and greets his interlocutor with a curt nod.

«David», he welcomes, without even trying to sound anything else than cold and wary. «What do you want?». He forces himself to stay still when the other teen comes close, the five inches he has on Derek made even more evident by the proximity.

«I want to speak to you», is the impatient answer, and Derek has to resist the urge to retort «No shit Sherlock» in the most insulting voice he can muster. Instead, he simply gesture for him to continue. The less he talks, the better. 

«Laura wants to discuss with you. She told me to tell you she never meant for you to be throw out». When Derek raises a disbelieving eyebrow, David adds sharply «It's true! She was just trying to protect the Pack, and she wanted to make you understand how dangerous Peter was. Still does. So she'd like to meet you by the river. She said you would know where».

And he indeed knows where. Considering they argued there less than two week ago...just before she turned her back on him. Afer telling him he would become a monster. Yes, he knows where. _Definitely_. Doesn't mean he'll go in cherrily. Who the fuck does Laura think he is? A subordonate? A imbecile? Maybe even both.

Derek narrows his eyes at David, lifts his chin in defiance. If they weren't in public he would probably have shifted the second his brother eneded his first sentence. What the fuck gives them the right? Laura, David...He lost his Pack, partially because of them, because they didn't have the fucking balls to step up – or because they simply didn't want to, Derek's not sure he wants to know which it is – and now they want to...To what? Try damage control? Make sure he doesn't go whisper the Pack's secrets to Peter's ear? He lets a wicked smile float on his lips. _It's a little late for that, Sis. Maybe you should have throught about it before you started you push me down yourself._

«You can tell her I'm not interested in anything she has to say. It was made clear on the trial that we don't share the same views. I won't convince her: and she won't convince me. So, no need to waste time». 

And on that, Derek leaves towards the store entrance. He's showing his back on David, but he's pretty sure the other wolf won't dare to try anything here. Too much witnesses, which means too muck risk of flashing eyes or claws to be noticed. And besides, not showing his back would be admitting being worried about his security in case of attack. Showing weakness isn't the way to handle any meeting with other wolves, especially when you're Omega.

So he keeps walking, back straight and shoulders relaxed, while keeping his attention on any hint of agression from behind. It's a lot less easy than usual – his senses are mostly back, but it still requires quite the effort to center them – but he keeps his pace calm and unhurried, the same way he would do if David wasn't here.

His brother doesn't try to give chase or catch up. He simply says, too low for bystanders but perfectly audible for a werewolf, «She's not the only one, Derek». Derek forces himself to keep his body langage neutral, even through he's surprised. And intrigued, as much as it chagrines him to admit.

In the last two days, he's been overjoyed to feel his senses slowly come back under his command. But now, he curses his superior hearing when David's last words reach him easily over the hiss of the automatic door and the laugh of a group of girls at his right.

«Marie and John also wish to speak to you. Text Laura to know the hour, if you change your mind».

∼

«Alright». Peter grabs a chair and sits down decisively at Derek's right. The young wolf briefly turns towards him, starled – last time he checked, his uncle was reading in the armchair – before going back to his whashing of the dishes. He's never been glad when it was his day of duty before, but right now it gives him the perfect excuse to escape Peter's too knowing eyes. 

Except, of course, it can't be that easy, he thinks when Peter reaches out and turns the faucet off. He sighs. He knows Peter, and he knows this kind of tone. It means 'you won't evade this discussion'. But still, he's not in the mood to make it easy. «I was washing», he points out coldly.

«I'm pretty sure the dishes won't fly away, don't you worry», Peter retorts, deadpan. Derek doesn't answer, hands tightening dangerously around the edge of the sink. Fuck, he can't take Peter's jabs right now, he's too angry for it. Too hurt, too. Maybe. He doesn't know.

He must look...he doesn't know how he looks, but Peter's expression softens. «Derek», he says, more gently. «I let you brood through lunch, then coffee, and you still look ready to murder someone. What's wrong?».

Derek bits his lip. Peter's advice is always sound. Not in the sense of 'always good', because, as much as they are alike on many things, they still have a very different conceptions of the world. 

Derek knows he's a lot less ruthless. Less harsh. Less cynical, too. There's something wild in Peter, some hint of cold darkness and violence, floating just under the surface. He caught glimpses of it in Peter's savage judgement about James, in the silent but fierce rage in his grip when he hugged Derek after he came back from the trial. In his cold, so cold eyes when he had told Derek about his kills.

When these flashes of dangerous fury show, Derek is sometimes afraid of it, afraid of not knowing Peter at all. But at the same time, Peter is his only friend, his sole confident. He's family in every sense of the term, more precious to Derek than...well, almost than anyone. 

There are plenty of things he doesn't know about his uncle. Derek's perfectly aware of it. Peter told him how he became Omega, and that was about ten years ago – Peter was twenty-one at the time, if he's not mistaken. 

And his uncle reappeared on the Pack territory five years later, saying he wanted to meet his niece and nephews – even through Derek was barely three at the time, since he was born in 1988, he heard of the tale of Peter's return very quickly. It's the stuff you tell to the youngs in this 'see how much I know' kind of demonstrations. 

So, yeah, Peter's demand, and his story, became part of the Pack's source of rumors and whispers. Almost an urban legend. But when the man actually came back to exerce his right, six years later, to see Laura and David...it was quite the uproar. Adults were pissed off, children terrified – or ready to fight and slay the dragon for some. Anyways, James had finally yielded - mostly to put an end to the right mess that Peter's arrival had created - and agreed Peter could come by as long as he warned them beforehand.

And Derek...hadn't given a shit at the time. He had been out most of the times Peter visited, and couldn't have less cared that an obscure relative wanted to meet him. It was only later, after he discovered his Gift, that he had begun to take an interest in this mysterious uncle, who, maybe, praticed magic.

So one day, Derek had decided to go out and meet him. Against his Father's will he may add, since the man refused to expose his supposedly would-be Alpha son to his brother's influence. 

But even without the appeal of meeting another Gifted wolf, Derek had been a bit ill at ease with all the negative remarks about the man. Talk about knocking sombody down when their back is turned. Seriously, could a single man be that bad? Driven by curiousity, he had intercepted Peter on his way to the house to make presentations. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Still, Derek's aware of the gap of unknown in his uncle history. Between 1991, when he became an Omega and 1998, when he began his regular visits, what did he do? That's seven years, and Derek has no idea of what Peter life has been at this time. Hell, he doesn't even know what Peter does between his week-long visits.

But he's not sure how to ask. Yes, Peter assured him he was open to any questions Derek could have...but the young wolf is pretty sure part of what can make Peter look so frightening is contained in these missing years. He doubts the life of an Omega – not to mention, a Gifted one – is without blood, pain or solitude. He's not sure he wants to really know.

At least, he reflects, shaking his throughts and brigring himself back to the matter at hand, if there's something Peter is able to do, it's to think. There's nothing of James' hothead attitude in him. Far from it. Peter is clever. Devious, even. He has no problem discuting any given subject and come back with answers. Interesting ones. Shocking ones, even. When his uncle proposes a solution, it's always one worth to think on, even if you disagree in the end.

Does Derek want to explain the situation to his uncle and bouce ideas off him until he manage to find an acceptable compromise? Hell, yes. He is going to? He's not sure. Peter is doing so much for him already. 

He's probably going to be accused of manipulating Derek for it, on the top of his more-than-bad reputation, but he didn't hesitate to open his house to his nephew, and to help him, no matter the personal cost for him. Lean on him even more would be selfish. Wouldn't it?

But at the same time, going behind Peter's back, especially to a meeting with members of the Pack...that's too close to a betrayal for Derek's taste. He may be intrigued, but his questions aren't worth losing Peter's trust.

Another option would be not to go, and it's probably the most reasonable one. But hey...he's a Gifted werewolf who lived in hiding in his Pack, and he's now sharing a house with the murderer of seven-hundred people. 'Reasonable' never was appliable adjective to him. 

And besides, he can't shake off the idea that there's a dare under the proposition of this meeting. Some kind of test. Test for what, he's not sure. Maybe to see if he would have the balls to actually show up. Or maybe it's even more complicated than that, maybe it's a trap; the whole Pack'll be here, ready to...

Derek cuts off this train of throught pretty quickly with a sigh. Trying to see all the possibilities always makes him feel like he's going completly paranoïd. His Pack's not the best on many points, but they wouldn't kill him in cold-blood.

Which is a _nice_ conclusion and all, but Derek needs to make a decision. As patient as Peter is, his uncle's not going to let him think all day long. And now that he noticed Derek's somber mood, he'll want an explanation.

So, he'll have to answer. The question is, _how much_ he is going to say? The most basic would be to tell Peter of his encounter with David, and the following...guess you could say, argument. And that would settle the topic rather nicely. And as for the meeting...if there's something important, he can always tell Peter later, no? No need to bother him with it.

Derek rubs the back of his neck, suddenly feeling very tired. «I had a run-in with David on the parking», he begins before he loses his courage. «We...got in a...disagreement about Gifts and Pack. And Laura. Anyway, it was messy, and I got angry».

Peter frowns. «That's all?». Derek nods. «Yeah, no big deal. I have a nasty temper, you know that». Peter fixes him in silence a few seconds before he nods in turn. «Okay», he murmurs. «But next time, _talk _to me, would you? I was worried».__

__«I know, I...sorry», Derek says a bit sheepishly. Peter rolls his eyes at him, but there's a smile playing on his mouth. He leans forwards and briefly presses his brow against Derek's. «A nasty temper alright». The amused, gentle whisper, breath hot on Derek's cheek, makes him feel even more bad about his silence, but he simply smiles in turn and playfully pushes at Peter chest._ _

__«I'm not that bad», he retorts with all the dignity he can manage. «And now that's settled, can I go back to my dishes, or do you want to take my place?». Peter smirks and backs away in lieu of answer, leaving Derek alone in front of the sink._ _

__It was the good decision, he tells himself later, watching the water disappear down the drain. Peter won't always be at his back. Since he's an Omega now, he can just start to act like one._ _

__It's time he learnt to fight his own battles._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little precision on the timeline. Since we don't have precise dates on the show (except for the fire in 2006) I made my own, so...
> 
> I see the time of the action as year 2006. Peter is 36 (born in 1970) , became Omega in 1991 (he was 21). Derek is 18 (born in 1988). They met in 2004 (Derek was 16). That's it.  
> If something's unclear, don't hesitate to ask!
> 
> Ah, and for the ones interested, Peter's car: http://www.astonmartin.com/en/cars/the-vantage-range/v8-vantage-roadster


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, chapter betaed by El, who has all my thanks!
> 
> Also, I'd like to thank Glyph_zero for our debate in the comments about the Pack and Peter's (and Derek's) relationship, which inspired this chapter! It made me realise that maybe, I was depicting this story just a bit too much manicheanly.
> 
> Enjoy, and tell me what you think!

Derek gets closer to the river edge, taking much care to stay downwind and hidden in the shadows. He doesn't really think the adults – or worse, James – will be here. Laura's text earlier in the evening soothed these fears: if she wanted this to be a full-on meeting – in other words, a trap – she wouldn't have told him to come at two in the morning. Looks like she sneaked out, too.

Still, better to stay wary. He can flatten Mary and John with his hands tied behind his back if must be, but Laura is far more dangerous. She's a very good fighter. To tell the truth, she's stronger than Derek, and faster. If this ends in a fight...he'll have to play a tight game.

He quickly discerns Laura's profile, features sharpened by the moonlight. She's standing in plain view, without trying to hide in any way. He can't see Mary and John, but their scents betray them; they're around, he's sure of it. Probably still in the woods.

As far as he can tell, there's nobody else. No Pack members ready to attack him. No that he actually believed he was in any danger, but...when he thinks of the trial, he wonders if any of them see him as family, the way he still see them. He's not sure what to expect from them anymore.

He wouldn't harm any of them – well, barring a case of defending his life. But, sadly, he can't be sure they'd show him the same respect. Pack are very closed-off groups. That's why Omegas have so much difficulty finding one: they instinctively close ranks against outsiders, to the point of frank hostility sometimes.

And Derek is an Omega, now. He doesn't know how much the fact that they have known him since his birth weights in the balance. So, the master word of the night is: careful.

He steps out of the shadows, intentionally walking on dried wood to annonce his presence. He walks until he's about three meters from Laura – enough of a distance to shift and dodge any attack if necessary – and inclines his head in salutation. It's not the bow he would own her as Alpha-to-be if he was still in the Pack, but rather an implicit acknowlegement that he sees her as an equal, no more.

Her eyes flickers over him, taking in his stance – relaxed but ready to react – and his silent welcome. Derek waits. Will she really accept that he denies her rank, proof that she's actually here to talk outside of any formal Pack meeting? Or will she try to make him sumbit, thus turning this get-together into a will match, and then a probable combat?

Laura looks him in the eyes, stone-faced, and Derek stares back, refusing to yield. If he's not Pack anymore, then he doesn't own her any form of submission. He resists the urge to show his teeth. Not yet. This defiance between them is not a battle – it can turn into one very quickly, mind you – but for the moment, they're still only gauging each other.

Finally, she lowers her eyes and nods curtly back. She's not happy with the situation, it's evident, but whatever she wants to tell him is apparently worth her acceptance. Interesting. 

«Peter isn't with you? I have to admit I'm surprised». His sister voice is emtionless, but Derek recognises a jab when he hears one. Strangely enough, it doesn't make his temper flare that much. Mostly, he doesn't really care for the mocking irony.

«He doesn't need to be. Or so I throught, since I was under the impression I was the one you wanted to see. Should I have invited him along?». He's not as good as his sister – or his uncle – to play cool and mask his feelings, but he thinks he just did an oaky job. Show he's not afraid of being here on his own, let the taunt slip aside, and question back. Not bad, for a start.

Laura's eyes narrow a bit in front of her brother surprising calm. He's not usually that in control of himself, too quick at flying off at the slightest provocation.She decides to push a bit more. «How surprisingly mature of you, brother».

To her surprise, Derek smirks at her, lazily insolent in a way that reminds her immediately of Peter. «I have hidden depths, Sis. As you well know». And then his smile suddenly vanishes, and he looks at her intensly and more seriously than she ever saw him look. «Now. We both got your jibes in. Let's call it even. I suppose you called me here for a good reason, if you took the trouble to send David to find me».

Laura's lips thin. She's losing the upper hand, faced with a side of Derek that she doesn't know at all. He's at ease, certain of his place and leading the discussion with a quiet assurance she never saw in him before. But, she reminds herself, it doesn't really matter. She's here to try and have a constructive argument, not to play clever.

«Very well», she says. «Let's talk». She takes a deep breath. She doesn't like to recognises her mistakes, but she doesnt have a choice. This discussion won't go anywhere if he thinks of her as the ennemy, and from David's account, that's exactly the case. «Derek, first of all, I want to apologise to you. I never meant to see you thrown out».

Derek rises his eyebrows upon hearing not only the words, but his sister's heartbeat. She's telling the truth. Well. He wasn't expecting this one. He throught David was just trying to entice him into coming, but visibly, Laura's regret is sincere. 

«And yet», he answers without letting his trouble show, «you didn't say anything when James decided to reject me. You didn't try to stand up for me». He can't help the slight accusation in his voice. «If you really didn't want this result, why didn't you react?».

Laura bristles at the verbal attack. «What should I have done? Jumped to my feet and protested to my Alpha's decision?».

This time, all of Derek self-control can't help but fray. «You say it like it's unthinkable», ha spats angrily. «but James isn't fucking omnipotent. He can be wrong, you know». His voice is low when he adds, almost in a disgusted tone. «I would have done it for you. Any of you. I wouldn't have throught twice».

Laura clenches her teeth. It's the truth, she knows it. No need of hearbeat reading. Yes, Derek would have stood up, without a doubt. She always called it recklessness, but the truth is, Derek is more courageous than her. Than any of them actually. He was the one who always transmitted the younger's requests to Dad, never afraid of butting heads with the Alpha when he throught he wasn't fair to the cubs.

But at the same time, he never understood what it meant for her to be the future Alpha. He believes it's only following her Father blindly, but it's not true. It's so much more. 

When she heard from the Alpha what he suspected, her first reaction was horrified deny. Her brother couldn't be Gifted. Couldn't be like Peter. But there had been his violent reaction to John, and she had to admit that he was dangerous to the Pack. And as future Alpha, her Pack had to pass first, in any circusmstances. Even when it was about her brother.

And she refuses to let Derek acts like she didn't give a shit and didn't think by herself when she bowed to her Alpha's will. «In this trial, that you seems to think so injust, you did nothing but lie by ommission until I called you on it. And then, you proceeded to play devil's advocate and justify mass murder. After, I may add, having attacked you brother two days prior». 

She looks at him, trying to impress her words. «What, pray tell, did you expect me to do? In three hours, you proved you were untrustworthy, and ready to lie to your family, for what? Protect a man who killed hundred of poeple without any reason». 

She shakes her head, eyes hard. «In these conditions, I didn't had any choice but to agree with Father. You were, at best, unpredicable, and at worst, a danger to this Pack. Being an Alpha means that the Pack passes before anything else. You didn't leave me a choice, brother».

This time, Derek actually bares his teeth. «Don't you dare», he snarls. «Don't you fucking _dare_ put this on me». He takes a breath, tries to calm the fury pulsing in his veins. «Yes, I lied, and yes, I protected Peter. Why wouldn't I? He's the only one who didn't treat me like I had fucking leprosy after he learned I was Gifted».

His breathing is harsh, and he's barely restraining the shift. It's like every second of hurt and frustration is spilling over after weeks of repressing it. «So, I can teleport, and what?». He spats it wildly. «Your eyes turn red, and you look like something out of an horror movie at least once a month, and you howl at the moon. We all do, and nobody runs for the hills. But I fucking teleport, to save my little brother, and suddenly I'm a monster?».

Derek laughs, dark and cold. «You, Thalia, the freaking Alpha, this little bastard of John...You're all a buch of hypocrites. And learn, sister dear, that I may be a liar, but I'm certainly not the only one. Tell me, did James told you about his supidity concerning the Lauren Pack?».

Shocked by the sudden venom in Derek voice, by his wild shaking, Laura has to swallow before she murmurs, «What are you...?». Derek draws a mocking eyebrow. «Oh, he didn't. Throught so». The smile playing on his lips is bordering poisonous, and Laura suddenly feels like she severely underestimated her brother's anger. Or what's he capable of. There's something savage lurking in the depths of his eyes, beyond the rage, and beyond the hurt.

«Well, you should ask him. Ask him, Laura, what he did of his precious precept of 'Pack first' that day. If he has even half of Peter's honor, he will tell you of how he was ready to get them all killed because of his wounded pride». 

And since Laura seems too busy staring at him like she doesn't recognise him, he finishes with, «And for your information? Peter didn't kill these humains for the pleasure. He did it to protect you all. It it wasn't for what he did, you wouldn't be here. None of us would be, because all of the elders of this Pack would be dead, probably ripped apart, exactly like Alpha Juris!».

He feels a tension he didn't realise was here leave his shoulders. These words, he wanted to let them out them more than he can say. It's the reflexions he tried to push away for so long, since the moment he realised nobody in the Pack wanted to talk to him anymore. It's the hurt at seeing his family suddenly throw him out, and not being able to do anything about it.

This, this was the raging rant he formed in the nights after the trial, when the breaking of the Pack bond resonated in him, making feel so desperatly little and alone. And at these moments, none of them were here. 

There was only Peter, Peter who let Derek crawl all over him like he could burrow himself entierly inside his uncle and never, ever let go again. 

So yes, he protected Peter. And he always will. Derek takes a deep breath. The air seems fresher, sweeter, and he finally feels his wolf wake fully since the first time in almost a week. His senses expand instantly when he wills it, as effortlessly as ever, like the block never was here. He can't help his grin. He's free, free in a way he never felt before. Was he alone, he would probably be laughing like a madman.

∼

Laura''s anger ingnites at Derek's grin. What does he think? That the argument is won, just like this? Well, he's dead wrong. She'll have many things to ask to her Father later, she admits it. But it's time Derek takes in a few truths, too.

«You really think it's that simple? Come on, brother, grow a little. Dad is a hard man, I'll give you that. But he's not as unfair as you believe. From what I understand, you're under the impression that the Pack threw Peter out without giving him the slightest chance to explain himself. Well, let me tell you, you're wrong». Laura shivers. If James ever learns she told that to Derek, she's dead. But how else make him understand?

«Dad almost begged him to explain», she murmurs. «He was angry, and afraid, that's true, but can you blame him? What would you do if one of your family seemed to become a mass murderer? If he refused to explain himself or to show any remorse, wouldn't you be confused? Afraid?». She's looking in her brother's eyes, trying to see if her words have any impact, but Derek's expression is carefully blank.

«If what you say it true, if Peter really had a good reason for killing all these people...Then he could, he should, have explained, argued...But he didn't. He chose to leave, to let his brother and family believe the worst things about him. And now, you're offended that these beliefs are now considered as true? He had his chance, and he let it go».

Laura frowns at Derek still closed-off face. Is he even listening to her? She would fucking shake him if she dared. But after the terrible rage in his eyes earlier...she doesn't. So instead, she goes back to her diatribe, tone tense and pissed off.

«Even if he had an actual reason...Do you really believe there is a justification that can excuse the murder of seven hundred people? Do you...?».

But Derek suddenly cuts her off. «Yes», he says determinedly. Laura blinks, then frowns, a bit caught on the hop. «I...What?». Derek stares her in the eyes. «You asked», he says coldly, «if I believed that something could really excuse mass murder».

«I'm answering to your question. Yes, I do believe that when you're protecting your most cherished ones, then you have every right, even the one to kill. What would you prefer, Laura? Your family dead and proud of you, or alive enough to be horrified with you?». 

Laura stares. She didn't...It was a purely rethorical question, she never expecter an actual answer. And not only Derek is looking at her like he's defying her to answer, but he really believes every word he just said. «You...». She swallows. «You would kill, in cold-blood, hundred of people...to selfishly save the ones you deem worthy of living?».

«The ones I love», Derek rectifies. «But yes. To protect you, Peter, or any member of the Pack, I would kill anyone».

Laura fixes her brother. He's deadly serious. And, she would too, be ready to do many things in order to protect her Pack, no matter what, but... «You do realise we're speaking of the humains, here, do you? They didn't do anything, they weren't a threat. There is no justification for this, Derek!».

 _There is, actually_ , Derek thinks. But he won't speak of Peter's Gift, even for the sake of the argument. It's not his secret to reveal. «He had a good reason to do it. If you really want to know, if you have the courage to be that curious...ask him. He'll answer honestly, like he did with me».

Laura opens her mouth, but Derek continues before she can protest. «No, don't ask, beacuse I won't tell you anything else. It's his to tell, to whoever he wishes. I'll simply add that he may not show remorse...but I can assure you, he did not take his decision lightly». 

Derek lifts his chin to mark his next words, and ends. «You told me to grow up; well, maybe you should take your own advice, sister. Sometimes, the only solution to save what can be saved is the ugliest one. It's up to you to decide if you're ready to accept that, or if you want to stay an idealist».

He throws a brief glance at his watch. 3:30 AM. They didn't say all they could - or all they wanted - to say, on either side, but they need to wrap this up before they all get caught. Besides, they gave each other plenty to think about, he's sure.

So he says, this time a bit louder. «As for John...I'm sorry I jumped on you like that. I shouldn't have lost my temper that way. My sincerest apologies».But for all the gentleness of the last words, his tone grows colder when he continues.

«Now, on the other hand, I want you to think. To think very hard on what I lost in your name, beacuse I loved you too much to let you die. And then, when you'll have got it – and I really hope you'll understand – I want you to come to me, and apologize, too. I think I deserve it. And, Marie? I'm sorry I frightened you so much, okay?».

He turns to Laura, who actually stepped out of the way when he adressed his younger siblings, and nods his thanks. But it's not enough, he thinks, because even if he doubts they'll ever see eye to eye on this, Laura actually gave him a chance to explain himself. «Thanks. For asking to meet, for listening...for letting me talk to them».

He feels strangely at peace at this moment, and Laura seems to share the feeling, because she nods back, calmly. «Thanks for coming. And for listening to me, too».

They separe without smiles or teases, without even truly accepting of each other, but it's better than nothing. Derek streches pleasantly, rolls his shoulers...he's ready to let the shift take over and run to the house at full speed, when an low voice resonates in the shadows of the trees. «Having fun, nephew?».

Derek feels the blood suddenly drain from his face. Slowly, incredibly slowly, he turns around to face the glowing, cold neon blue of Peter's eyes.


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 12, betaed by El as usual^^
> 
> Enjoy!

The positive side of things, Derek manages to think under his desperate flare of denial about his uncle presence, is that Peter doesn't look hurt. Just pissed off. It's better that way. He can take a pissed off Peter. He thinks. He's not sure what it implies, really.

Since it looks like Peter intends to let him sweat in silence, he decides to take the risk to open his mouth. «It's not what it looks like», he blurts out. «At all». _Great, Hale. Go ahead and use the most cliché of explanations ever. That's certainly going to make an impression._

The elder wolf narrow his eyes. «Oh. It's not, is it? Well, I guess that explain everything», Peter flatly retorts, and Derek winces. But he totally deserved that one. «I meant...Okay, I know what you think», and grimaces again when Peter rises a cold, mocking eyebrow. «Not only teleporter, but mind-reader, too. Color me impressed».

Derek swallows. Behind the irony, he can detect a fierceness that makes him revise his estimation from «pissed off» to «actually, really, raging _mad_ ». He tries to calm down. He can explain himself. He had a good reason to do it, after all. Had he? He's not so sure it was the best idea anymore.

But before he can try and explain, Peter continues, still with this eerie calm that makes Derek's hair stand on end. «But please, pray tell, nephew, what I think. I'm most intrigued».

Derek takes a deep breath. He did this because he didn't wanted to burden Peter. Maybe – okay, very probably – he was wrong. But still, he can at least show his uncle he didn't mean to betray him to the Pack or anything like that. But in order to do that, he needs to be calm and collected. To expose his arguments without faltering.

«You think», he says, trying to sound sure of himself, instead of half-desperate, «that I got behind your back to meet with Laura. And», he adds quickly when he sees Peter opening his mouth, «and, you're right about it. I did sneak out to see her. Without telling you. I'm not trying to deny it. But _please_ , give a chance to properly explain». _I did the same for you_ , he doesn't add. He's pretty sure that trying emotionnal manipulation is the worse thing he could do right now.

Peter coldness doesn't abate in the slightest. He doesn't even nod, or look at Derek before he takes off in the night towards the house without a word, leaving Derek with no choice but to follow. He doesn't wait on him either, moving at full speed between the trees.

Doing his best to catch up, Derek sighs. He has a feeling this is going to be a long, _long_ morning.

∼

Peter closes the door behind his nephew and props himself against the wood, jaw set and arms crossed. The very image of a case of closed off body language. Derek gives himself half a second, his back to Peter, to rub his temples before turning back to meet his uncle's glare head on.

«I made a mess of this. I know. And I'm sorry for it. But I didn't...». He sighs anew, trying to order his argument. The words are rushing in his head, half-explanations and crazy ideas, and that won't do. He needs to be concise, not a rumbling jumble of senseless explanations.

Alright. Let's start with the most important. «As I said, I admit I did go behind your back. And it was stupid, so stupid of me. But I need you to believe, I wasn't betraying you there». Derek licks his lips nervously and continues.

« And I...I never meant to hurt you, or make you think I would tell your secrets. I won't, ever. You know that, right?». He looks at Peter a bit desperatly, because if he lost that much of the other wolf's trust, then he's not sure this discussion will have any use. His knees go weak when Peter gives the tiniest nod.

«Oaky», he whispers faintly, without hiding his relief. And since he doesn't know how much Peter heard, and in the interests of full disclosure, he develops, «We argued. Not in the sense of screaming at each other. We really exchanged points of veiw and arguments, and we managed to stay mostly calm about it. First we spoke of the trial, and then of Gifts a bit, and of that day with the Lauren Pack. It wasn't...». Derek abruptly cuts himself off when Peter rises a hand.

«I heard that much. I was here at the time of your charming verse about leprosy», he precises in front of Derek visible surprise. «But forget that. It's not important». The dissmissive nonchalance of the last remark slips away when Peter walk dangerousely close and adds in a furious hiss. «Dammit to hell, would you tell me _what you were thinking?_ ».

Derek flinches. He never heard Peter rise his voice, not ever when he argued with James. «I...». He clears his troat, forcing his voice past his lips. «I didn't want to bother you with it. I mean, I'm already at your house all the time, I eat with you, sleep in your bed...I'm always here, and...I don't want to...invade your life». He ends his sentence in a murmur, words having gone lower and lower in sync with Peter's more and more thunderous expression.

«I'm really sorr...». And that was apparently the bad thing to say. Peter doesn't speak, no, he...growls, low and harsh, a growl that carries torrents of ice. Derek can't help to step back. He doesn't think, not for a second, that Peter is going to hurt him, but...it's just sheer instinct to move away from the threat of an angry, older wolf. Just like the urge to show his troat, but Derek is maintaining this one under control for the time being.

Peter takes a hissing, deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself. He closes his eyes a second, and finally barks, «Sit down», and goes put the coffee machine on. Derek decides this isn't the moment to say he doesn't feel like coffee, and sits. 

When Peter comes back and put an actual coffee cup in front of Derek, he has to make a conscious effort to not stare. When he notes his uncle didn't pour himself a cup, he frowns a bit. And when he observes that Peter visibly doesn't plan on sitting down, he inwardly admits his confusion. The coffee is...well, it's a gentle touch. The fact that his uncle is pacing like a caged wolf, however, is less encouraging. It's kind of...contradictory.

After a minute of silence, he dares to speak, hesitantly. «I'm not sure I'm really following. I mean, between coffee and..your walking around...Are you angry with me, or not?». Peter stops just long enough to send him a withering glare. «What do you think?», he snaps.

Dully chastened, Derek murmurs, «Sorry», and directs his attention back to his fuming cup. He hears Peter curse in an undertone before his uncle grabs the chair by the sink and sits. Derek rises his eyes, torn between relief and apprehension. Peter's expression isn't so angry anymore, but there's still a certain coldness on his face.

«Do you have any idea», he enunciates too carefully, «how it felt to find you gone at three in the fucking morning, to follow you trail and and smell the Pack's scent mixed with yours? Can you imagine what I throught?». Derek nods in silence, but apparently, it's not enough for Peter. «Answer me. And don't tell me you're sorry», he adds harsly.

It's like a slap in the face. Derek pales and closes his mouth instantly. Peter frowns barely softens. «I know you're sincere when you apologize, Derek. But I want you to understand what it did to me, to stumble onto this situation. I...». Peter fells silent and turns his eyes away, teeth clenched. 

Derek nods again, absently. The truth is, he's a little lost. It seems...excessive. Peter's rage, his worry, the fact he acts like he believed the Pack would actually...And then it clicks, and Derek curses himself to take so long to understand. «Did you throught they would hurt me? That's why you're so furious?», Derek asks him, slowly and a bit dibelievingly. «Because I know they're narrow-minded asses, but they wouldn't...».

That's when Peter looks at him, and Derek's jaw clicks shut on it's own accord. Not that he would have disagreed. There's something _haunted_ in the older man eyes, a terrible mix of sadness and fear that leaves Derek speechless. He doesn't have any idea how to answer that much vulnerability. It's like one wrong word will shatter...not Peter, but _something_ , and Derek doesn't know what to do.

He's about to try nonetheless, because he can't stay silent while Peter look at him like that. When he is the reason Peter looks like that. But, as suddenly as it appeared, the distress flickers away, leaving only impassiveness behind. For a long minute, Peter simply keep staring at him, and then he get up, and grabs Derek's coffee.

«Go to sleep», he says. «We'll speak in the morning». Derek's head jerks up at that, following Peter's outline – none of them throught of turning the light on – as he walks to the sink, and throws the coffee in it. 

Derek's still thinking when Peter begins to wash the cup. His uncle just gave him the perfect escape. He feels exhausted: he could easily wisk the problem away, at last until tomorrow – or rather, later today – and get a good nap. It's a great plan.

Or, it would be, if there wasn't Peter. Peter, whose back and shoulders are so tense that it's visible, even in the dim light. Peter, who's clenching the cup that bit too tight, just enough that Derek can hear the crack of the ceramic. Peter, whose control is always, _always_ perfect. Except right now. And it's Derek's fault.

So he gathers his wits and his courage, and says, «I'm not tired. I'll stay up a bit, if it's alright with you». He apprehensively waits for his uncle reaction, but nothing's coming. He clears his troat awkwardly. «Hem...Peter?».

Peter shrugs without even turning around. «What do you want me to say? I'm not your father, and you're eighteen. Do as you wish», he says with supreme indifference, before brushing his way past his nephew to go lie on the bed and grab a book on the floor. Derek takes the blow in silence, forcing himself to swallow his hurt feelings. This isn't about him anymore. It's about Peter, and how Derek visibly managed to twist the knife he didn't know he had in an unseen wound.

It's time he actually stops being such a coward about Peter's past. He should have asked a long time ago. What kind of friend is he, exactly? Except the fact that he's Gifted, an early riser, that he loves hunting at dawn and read, he knows nothing about his uncle. And it's nobody's fault but his own. Because he was to afraid to ask. And yet, if he did, then maybe he wouldn't have frightened Peter so much.

Derek is not a genius, but he's certainly not a idiot either – well, bad decisions, like tonight's, put aside. He's aware that his disappearance and, more importantly, his get-together with the Pack, was only the set-off of something bigger. Peter is furious at him, yes, because he's afraid. But Derek doesn't think the man was afraid for him, not really. Or, rather, not totally. There's something else. Trauma. Bad memories. Witchever.

Thing is, it's his fault if Peter's remembering that. Whatever that is. And so, he can't good pacefully to sleep knowing that Peter will probably be awake all this time and fight demons in silence. On the other hand, he very much doubts his uncle is suddenly going to open up so they can have a tearful moment of mutual understanding. It's not his style, nor Derek's.

He can't speak to Peter – it's too soon. Can't go to bed either – he don't think he'd be welcome in it at the moment anyway, seeing how his uncle's still angry. But he can stay here. Be here. Silent, but present, to prove to Peter that what he feared so much didn't happen, and Derek's safe and sound. That he's aware of the damage he's done. And that he's here, no matter how long he has to wait. 

Still, one hour later, when Peter turns the lights off without as much as glacing at him, Derek can't help but wonder how much he fucked up.

∼

«You are a case of crazy and stubborn mixed together frighteningly well. I don't know werether to laugh of cry. Or call the asylum».

Peter's dry tone starles Derek...well not _awake_ per se, since he wasn't sleeping. Not really, at last. He had let himself fall in this state of half-awareness that allowed the wolf using it to doze while his senses remained alert. Mostly, it kept the hearing and sense of smell going at almost full power, allowing to be warned of sudden movements or new odours.

And when Derek turns his head – slowly, because he's so stiff he feels like he's going to lose a limb if he moves too fast – he understands why he didn't notice Peter's awakening. His uncle didn't move from the bed. No movements, no unknown smell, cue his lack of reaction. Derek doesn't think it's dumb luck.

More like, Peter was careful to let him rest a while – and considering how much it hurts to get himself out of the armchair, he can't say if the man did it out of gentleness or spite. Maybe a bit of both. He streches carefully, muscles and joins protesting vigourosly – and painfully.

At the same time, he appraises Peter out of the corner of his eye. His shoulders have loosened up, and the taught line of his jaw has eased; he doesn't seem to be in a hurry of going up either, lounging lazily on the bed. In short, seems to be relaxed enough. A lot more than earlier, at any rate.

Testing the waters, Derek asks off-handedly, trying to sound as laid-back as he can, «How long have you been awake?». When Peter answers calmly, «About one hour, give or take», he feels the knot of worry and nerves in his stomach loosen. Apparently, Peter isn't so mad with him anymore.

He lets out a breath of relief, passing it off as an expire on his last streching pose, before he dares to ask, «Want breakfeast?». Actually, he almost said, 'want coffee', but realised at the last second how a bad idea it would be. Peter hums his agreement and rolls off the bed. 

The fact that he's clothed already is a painful reminder of the bitter end of the morning. Derek turns himself away to go make something edible, stubborly ingnoring the voice in his head murmuring, « _After how badly things went, do you really think all will be well that easy?_ ». He's so busy pushing it away, in fact, that he jumps lightly when Peter open the frige at his right.

«Sorry», he says. It's more of a reflex than anything else – he doesn't have to apologise for jumping a little, but Peter seems to take it a bit more seriously. He fixes Derek, frowning, and the young wolf knows what he's going to say before he even opens his mouth. «We need to talk», Peter tells him, gentle but unwawering. _God, I hate it when I'm right_ , Derek thinks. _Why do I always guess right about shitty things?_

Refraining a sigh, he goes to the table. Peter joins him less than a minute later, gives him an once-over, and clicks his tongue, the sound somewhere between desapproving and faintly amused. «Relax», he says. Derek does his best, grabing a slice of bread, but it's hard to be sereine – or hungry - when there's a future quarrel on the table. Almost litteraly. 

Peter, who had been witnessing his efforts to seem calm over the rim of his cup – because he did make himself the coffee Derek hadn't dared to suggest – puts it on the table, before moving back in his chair. «You're very nervous. Why?». 

Derek stays silent. Denying it is useless. _I was kinda afraid by your anger last night, so I'm steeling myself for the rematch, and, at the same time, I'm trying to devise a plan so my questions about your past will look natural_ , he sums up mentally. But he's sure as hell not going to say that out loud. So he does the next best thing: he shrugs.

Peter pianots a throughful rhythm on the wood of the table, taking Derek's anxiety in. Finally, he clears his troat, a bit hesitantly, and the weirdness of it – Peter is one of the best speakers he knows – makes Derek's attention snap to him.

«Derek, if this is about last night...I'm sorry I reacted that way. It was rather disproportionate, I'll admit it. In my defense, I was very worried about you. You should have talked to me. Going alone was stupid, and dangerous. I didn't expect this king of recklessness from you, and I...overreacted».

Derek nods, and lets himself lounge back in his chair in turn. So his impression of Peter's calm wasn't just wistful thinking. His uncle seems to really have toned the anger down. It's good. Better than that, it's a fucking relief. He spent the hours of dawn half-terrified that his idiocy had destroyed too much, but apparently it's...not fine, not entierly, but better. Up to him to keep it that way.

«I get it, I do. I know it was supidity of epic proportions. But at the same time, I...». He swore to himself he would give it time, hold his tongue until the best moment, until this discussion is behind them. It's enough of a minefield as it is. But the question slips out anyway, urged by a dizzying mix of relief and a desperate need to understand and fix this mess.

«Why were you so sure they would hurt me?». Derek forces himself to held Peter's eyes, even when they narrow dangerously, some of this morning coldness slipping in. «They're not Pack anymore, but they're still family. I don't think they would try to harm me. Or even you. Strangers, yes, but us?».

Peter snorts disgustedly. «Your naivety asounds me. They threw you out, Derek, without even thinking twice, treated you like a pariah, you said so yourself! And now, you're defending them?».

Derek swallows. The last thing he'd wanted had been to get the argument going again, but now that he'd asked, there wasn't any other choice but to see it to the end.

«I'm not defending them», he hisses harshly, because the comment on his naivety kinda rub him up the wrong way. «They've been treating me like shit, and I'm not even close of forgiving them, even through I can understand where they come from. Yes, they've been weak in letting prejudices cloud their judgement.But...it doesn't make them killers, Peter». He wants to ask again, demand why his uncle is so convinced of thier dangerousness, but he keeps his mouth shut, for once. Better let Peter set the pace on this one.

He knows he's been right to keep silent when Peter gets up and goes to the window. «It was about a half a year after I broke off from the Pack», he begins softly, his gaze lost in the green of the trees beyond the glass.

«I stumbled on a little community of wolves in Alabama. They lived reclused, and, while they were pacifists, they were wary of strangers, especially other wolves. I didn't get in». Ther's a second of silence, and then Peter clarifies, «Actually, I didn't even try to. I didn't feel like trying to join any group at the time – I was too angry and hurt to make the effort, and I had turned my Gift off as much as I was able. I just wanted to be left alone».

Derek stays carefully still on his chair, focusing all his attention on Peter. He wants to get it, wants to be able to know Peter enough that he won't fuck up again. There's no need of werewolf smell sense to register the distress in his uncle low tones. Oh, it's hidden. The man's probably aiming for neutral, but maybe Derek knows him a little in the end, because he detects it without even actually trying.

He's not sure what the distress is due to, through. The memories of the Pack rejection? Of his loneliness? He forgets too often, Derek thinks to himself, that Peter didn't have anyone to help or be with when his Pack bond broke. It was hard enough for Derek even when he could curl up with Peter every night, so face it alone? He shudders at the idea. 

But at the same time, he reflects, he could understand if that's where Peter's mefiance and anger come from. When there is nobody, not even Pack to stand with you, and that most of your own species regards you as a freak...well, he can understand his uncle's bitterness and lack of trust. 

And even through he argued in the Pack's favor five minutes ago...Truth is, when he, Derek, was approching Laura earlier, he wasn't ready to trust her, either. He had been on alert during the whole meeting, his instinct murmuring to not let his guard down. And he had listened. 

Maybe because, in the end, he knew the wolf was more honest than him. More simple. In the wild, with real wolves, rules are few and easy: an attack is either followed by immediate submission or retailiating. Yes, the Pack is a social group with genuine affection between individuals, but – Omega's role put aside – if blood is spilled injustly, if a wolf is chased away, then all bets are off. Wolves have this incredible capacity to tip over from 'being in the group' to 'being alone' without missing a beat. Pity werewolves can't do the same, really.

Bringing himself back to the present, he reports his attention on Peter, who didn't even seem to notice his momentary lapse. Which tells his almost everything he needs to know, but just to be sure he's not going to make a mistake – one more - he takes a second to read the older wolf's body langage. 

There's not much to see, since Peter's control is still here, even fraying at the edges.His uncle is still propped against the window's frame, face expressionless, but if the fist he has closed on the glass is any proof, his throughts have to be rather dark.

Derek takes a breath, quells the nasty voice in his head whispering he will only look like a perfect idiot, and gets up. He's not used to it, to try and initiate contact, but he remembers how good it was, Peter's warmth and scent and touch. How conforting, safe it made – still makes – him feel when the feeling of utter lonliness becomes too much to bear. 

So he mentally slaps himself, resolutely stamps on his nerves, and grabs his uncle's hand. He doesn't try to force him to loosen his clenched fist, doesn't try to catch his eyes. He just rubs his tumb gently over warm skin, and let his breathing fall in sync with Peter's.

They stay like this a long time, with Peter's tense frame against his, his uncle voice seeming to vibrate through Derek's bones, searing the story in his mind, as much because of it's ugliness than because of how much pain it's causing Peter, still.

The shadow of another night finally falls upon them.


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here chapter 13, betaed once again by the lovely El!
> 
> Enjoy!

Derek takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the oh-so-vivid images created by Peter's words. It's like the first glup of air after hours in apnea, making him dizzy with the sudden break in concentration and immobility.

There's plenty of arguments he could oppose to what Peter just asked him – that is, to refuse to see any member of the Pack alone – but he can't make himself say it, can't rekindle the debate and argue. Not now, not when Peter just opened up and looks wrecked for it, all in order to convince Derek of his point.

There will be time, tomorrow, when Derek doesn't feel like he's going to drop from emotional exhaustion, and, more importantly, when Peter doesn't look like he's going to crumble with one wrong word. 

Right now, his uncle is looking at him with wide eyes, hand clenched like a vice around his, waiting for an answer. And Derek nods, slowly, because he can't do anything else, because Peter needs this from him so desperately it's painful to see. «It's okay», he murmurs, trying to appease the horrible tension still nested along Peter's frame. «It's okay, I agree. I won't go alone. I won't. I'll tell you. Peter, I _swear_ , I'll speak to you next time».

Peter lets out a shaky exhale, closing his eyes – his neon blue eyes, which are back to their normal deep blue when he opens them again. He nods, and let go of his nephew's hand to turn away, visibly trying to piece together the remains of his tattered control, but Derek's having none of it. He can understand the urge to gather his wits, but he's not going to let Peter pass it off that easily.

He reaches out and grabs Peter's wrist. His uncle doesn't even resist when Derek gently tugs. The contact is all it takes for Peter to turn back easily, body almost limp, looking like he would do anything Derek tells him, no matter how crazy. 

At loss for words – because ' _it'll be better after a few hours of sleep_ ' is utter bullshit - the young wolf carefully takes a step back towards the bed, gauging his uncle reaction. He doesn't seem overly enthusiastic – who can blame him? - but he doesn't object either, so Derek slowly walks back all the way to the bed, and Peter follows him willingly enough.

Derek considers whether let Peter crash fully clothed, or pull him out of his shirt, and finally goes for the latter. He's brushing his uncler's collar, trying to work out the logistics involved in getting a cloth off a mostly-unresponsive person, when Peter grabs his hand, stopping his movement by tangling his fingers in Derek's.

«I'm not _that_ far gone», he murmurs, squeezing Derek hand. «Just...very, very tired». He tries for a smile, only a pale ghost of the full-blown smirk Derek's used to. But, nevertheless, if Peter wants to undress by himself, Derek's not going to insult him by asking if he's sure. 

So he nods, and turns away to leave a bit privacy to his uncle. At least, as much privacy as you can get when you're in the same room. He shrugs off his V-neck shirt, lets it fall down in the general vincinity of one of the chairs and climbs on the bed.

Peter lets his own shirt fall on the floor – which, considering the man's almost obssessive need for tidiness, is rather worrisome – and follows suit.

After the way Peter stopped him earlier, Derek doesn't dare to curl closer or try to touch him, even if he privately thinks it would do his uncle a world of good. Still, the man didn't give any indication he wants to be coddled, so Derek's ready to let it go – to each his way to deal, after all - when Peter actually makes the decision for him, twisting sideways so his head's pillowed on Derek's stomach.

«I don't want to talk», he says, the warning clear in his voice. Well, no shit. Like you'd want to go on a joyful debate after remembering some of your worst memories. But Derek doesn't believe Peter would take kindly to the snark, so he simply hums his acceptance soothingly and closes his eyes, trying to find as much calm as he can after Peter's rather horrific tale. It's not easy, but being stiff as a ramrod certainly isn't going to help his uncle to relax.

Derek feels his muscles slowly unclench with each breath, and Peter's weight grows heavier and heavier in answer, face burrowed in his nephew's abdomen. But he knows that Peter's awake still; on the verge of falling asleep, but not totally gone either. He's not letting himself go to sleep, and frankly, Derek can't say he's not empathizing.

He understands the fear of nightmares pretty well. For about a week after John's fall, he dreamed of it almost every night, blood and bones and howls of pain – Jonh first, then Laura the next night, then Mom...all of them. 

And he was running, running, because he couldn't teleport for some reason, and, every time, he reached them just in time to see them die. And, always, always, their last words were the same: _«Why didn't save me by teleporting? Was your secret worth my life?»_. That was about when Derek woke up, generally, a deseperate denial caught in his troat, suffocating him with despair and horror.

So he gets it, he does. But still... He debates telling to Peter to try and go to sleep, but he fears speaking will get his uncle out of his doze-like state. It took him long enough to go half-under as it is, and Derek doesn't want to break his peace. So he does the next best thing he can think of: he carefully begins to stroke Peter's hair.

He's half expecting his hand to be batted away, but to his surprise, Peter emits a low, satisfied sound and curls closer. Derek momentarily stops, starled, before hastily resuming his motions when Peter begins to stir unhappily. His uncle would probably strangle Derek for the throught, but it's not unlike petting a big cat.

It takes less than five minutes of gentle strokes for Peter's breathing to acquire the depth of a true, profound sleep. Well. At last he's out all right, Derek muses. Goal attained. It's great.

But still, twice in one day...He's becoming as bad as the rest of his family about the touching. Pity, he reflects, looking at Peter sleeping form, that he can't make himself feel annoyed about it.

∼

Derek wakes up to the sensation of being watched. He would have probably tensed, even maybe wolfed out, hadn't the scent been so close and familiar. He uncurls and rolls idly on his back to blink up at Peter.

Head cocked a bit to the side, up on an elbow, his uncle is looking at him in silence, eyes grave, and Derek bites his tongue on a sarcastic, 'It's rude to stare'. He's not the brightest bulb in the box, but even a perfect idiot would understand that the atmosphere isn't up for irony. He almost asks if something's wrong, but Peter doesn't seem distressed in any way. He's just...looking at Derek without a word.

Which is totally weird, but after the last two days...nights...whatever, he guesses that if staring at him creepily is Peter's way to feel better somehow, Derek can live with it. So he simply stares back, calm and still a bit fuzzy – he's so not a morning person, sue him. 

Speaking of, if Peter doesn't say something soon, he's going to fall back asleep here. But hey, his uncle seemed pretty good with fixing Derek when he was sleeping earlier, so...

His – admittedly not very sharp – reflexion comes to a sudden, screetching halt when Peter leans forwards to nuzzle at his temple, gentle and tender, his warm breath brushing against Derek's cheek for a few seconds, before Peter murmurs «Thanks», at his ear and withdraws, getting up and going to rummage in the fridge and then get out.

Alone on the bed, Derek blinks at the celling, taking a minute to wonder if this isn't some kind of bizarre dream. But of course it's not, not with the way his life seems to take all forms of bizarre in at the slightest opportunity, these days. 

At last, he decides, being a bit out of it kept him from saying anything stupid and platitudinal, like _'You're most welcome'_. Ah, and he's totally awake, now, too. So, bizarre maybe, but with positive results, yes?

Shrugging off the convulted throughts, he gets up as well and streches, enjoying the roll and pull of his muscles, running like a well oiled machine, ready to get to work immediately. Sometimes Derek pities the humans, he really does.

Slipping his shirt on, he joins Peter outside. His uncle's vaguely nibbling on a chicken leg, looking more interested by the narrow path trough the trees in front of him rather than his lunch. Derek knows this look. He himself sported it many times in the past. 

It's the look that says your wolf is close to the suface, instinct whispering at you ear to let go of the complications of the human half of yourself, and to simply be, run and chase as wolves do, and erase your worries with each stride, at last for a few hours.

So Derek's not overly surprised when Peter turns to him and asks, «Want it?», designing the chicken. Derek doesn't need to be asked twice. He's fucking famished, and with the Pack being all diet-careful, he certainly didn't have meat for breakfeast often. He takes the drumstick from Peter with a nod of thanks, and bites into it with gusto.

He was expecting Peter to take off the second his hands were empty, but his uncle patiently waits for him to finish. Derek throws the bone behind him, and grins when he hears it hit the trash can dead on. Peter snorts at his satisfaction, but he's smiling when he says «I intend to run for about four hours. Without counting the return. What do you say?».

Derek grins widens. «I'm in».

∼

Derek's feeling euphoric. Not beacuse of his the endorphins induced by his run, not even because of Peter's presence – even if the latter is very agreable. No, he's ecstatic because, finally, after almost a full month of being impaired, he's whole again, man and wolf perfectly merged.

The last time he ran, he'd barely managed five hours and half, still streched thin from teleporting his brother. Later, the rupture of the Pack bond made him feel like a part of him had been ripped out, the wolf inresponsive, almost erased.  
But now...Now he's running besides Peter, holding up to the rhythm effortlessly. Of course, it's not that much of a surprise, with him trying to catch up with his uncle two nights ago. He hadn't been holding back at the time – when you're running behind Peter, it's a luxury you don't have. Especially if he's pissed. But it had been, what? Three miles, four, tops. Hardly a good test.

Rght now, however...Eight hours, round trip? Now that's a challenge. Not to mention, they're talking as they run. In short: it's the perfect occasion to see if everthing is back as it should be. Before this whole mess, Derek's endurance had came close to three full days runs. And since he's all good again, he sure as hell intends to get back to it.

«Enjoying ourselves, aren't we?». Derek simply smiles even wider at Peter's sarcastic comment. He probably looks like a perfect moron, but he doesn't care. And when Peter laughs at him in answer, he can't help but join in. Fuck, this is better than being high.

He speeds up without even noticing, and Peter, a smile playing on his lips, does the same without comment.

∼

«Hey, where are we going, exactly? I don't recognise the path». Actually, Derek's pretty sure they passed the Hale's territory frontiers about half an hour ago, but who cares? It's not like he wants to run into Laura or any of the others, after all. Still...

«We're not in another Pack territory, are we?». Because that would go so well. But Peter shakes his head. «Not at all. The closest Pack is the Callen's, and their grounds start at last twenty-five miles north from here». Derek nods once, before the words actually register. «Hang on, are you telling me we're on neutral ground, then?», he asks, alarmed. 

His uncle throws him a wry glance. «Did you think my house was built on Hale territory?», and when Derek stares at him, speechless, he shrugs. «James would have my fucking head if I ever dared».

«But...», the young wolf murmurs. «Neutral grounds are...I mean, they're never real. Packs more or less have theirs hands on it». And he's being careful in his words. The ugly thruth is, the famous neutral grounds are more often than not used as traps of sorts. It's simple: only Omegas, rogues and Gifted use these places, because it's difficult to live anywhere else. Or rather, they did use it. 

Staying on neutral ground is foolish; there was a time when Packs waited for enough Omegas – Gifted or rogues alike – to reassemble, and massacred them indiscriminately. Nowadays, it's forbidden, but still, anyone with half a brain will stay on the move constantly, or strike a deal with a Pack for protection (well, not rogues obviously, but Gifted wolves can, sometimes, in exchange of their services).

But law or no law, neutral grounds are dangerous places to be. You never know when you'll cross path with some imbecilic macho who wants to prove his strenght and who'll decide that killing a pariah will be good for his self-esteem. After all, it's not like they'll get more than a rap on the knuckles for their deed.

«Peter», Derek hisses urgently, scanning their surroundings warily. «We shouldn't be here. It's dangerous». To Derek atonishement, Peter grins at him.

«You stare your own Alpha down, but you're afraid of neutral grounds?». «I never stared my...», Derek begins indignantly, then shakes his head. «That's not the point, Peter! Neutral grounds are fucking cut-throat areas, you _know_ that! Jesus fucking Christ, why did you bring us here?».

«Because», Peter answers, all trace of humour gone, «If you want to be a Gifted wolf, you'll have to learn about those, and many others unpleasant things. A Omega's life is nothing gentle, but a Gifted's is way worse. I didn't intend to speak to you about it, not so soon, but...well, after last night, I guess trying to shelter you is a moot point».

«So you decided to lead me in the modern version of a steel jaw trap?». Derek doesn't know if he should be indigned, accusing, or, as wrong as it may sound, weirdly fascinated. The knowing glance Peter sends him says he's aware of Derek morbid attirance. 

«There is something I want to show you here, actually», he counters, and begins to jog slowly away, leaving to Derek the choice either to follow or leave. And he _could_ go back, since he instinctively memorised the way when they left Hale territory. But Peter's words sparked his curiosity. What can be worth seeing around here? Except for the occasional passerby wolf, this part of the wood is dead.

With a sigh – he absolutely needs to learn how to leave Peter behind or to say no to him, because this is getting ridiculous – Derek catches up quickly. They slip between the trees in a complicate, convulted pattern. It's a path that's not meant to be discovered by luck, Derek realises. You have to be led by another wolf in order to find it.

«Peter, were are we going?», he insists. «And why so much complexity?». Peter doesn't look at him, intent on his search, when he answers, «Because we didn't want for it to be destroyed. The Gifted community is small and scattered. We certainly don't care much about each other. But on that, at last, we were - are - in agreement».

This doesn't answer much, and Derek about to say it, when they step in a little clearing, and he stops dead in his tracks. Here, on the charred, hard ground, there's a triskelion made of white stones, startingly vivid against the dark brown of the soil. 

He feels his heart jump in his troat, and Peter's words from last night come back to him. _We took what was left of her, and we buried it deep in the woods. We...didn't know her name, so we simply put a triskelion on her gave. For remembrance_. On God, he's going to be sick.

But memories keep coming, and Peter's voice echoes mercilessy in his ears. _We couldn't do anything. They had a Gifted with them, and suddenly we all were paralyzed. I tried, but I couldnt get a grip on his mind, and..._

A deep breath. _She was nine, fucking nine, and she...She could float. Not even fly. Just float, about five meters above the ground. She wasn't like you or me. She couldn't to anything harmful, she wasn't dangerous. And she was a child. But they took her all the same._

And another, desperately trying to keep the urge to throw up in check. _It was...at last, they were fast about it. No torture, or anything like it. There was a few of them who even had the gall to look fucking sad, the way you do when you put a sick dog down. But they still tore her to sherds._

_She had escaped her Pack, found refuge here, in this weird amalgam of Gifted wolves strung together in Alabama...And less than one hour later she was torn to pieces, because the Pack of the territory next door decided they didn't want freaks around._

_They throught that frightening us enough would make us scatter, and you know what? They were right. We all agreed to keep it together for the time it took to bury her, but after that...We all left, too much of cowards to make them pay._

He remembers Peter's growl, the self-hatred shining in his eyes. _And we could have. Not much of us were powerful enough to do real damage, but still...We could have killed many of them. But we didn't. We fucking fled the second we could, every single of us._

Another growl, more like a sob, or maybe a derisive laugh. _She found me, you know. I was heading out of the territory, and we crossed paths. Poor kid was so desperate to find anybody like her, she asked me dead on if I was one of them. I almost said no, but...The group was retired, careful, and too well hidden for her. She would never have found them on her own. So I went with her...And I lead her to death as surely as a lamb to the slaughter._

Derek has to dig his claws in his arm to get out of his horified shock. His hand shakes so badly he misses and racks a deep gash along his forarm instead. Not that he cares at the moment. «You...». His voice is a barely audible croak, but it's all he can manage at the moment. «You said it happened in Alabama. Why...».

«It did», Peter says with a sigh. «The one I told you about, at last. But not long after that, it became some kind of...fashion». He lets out a bitter laugh. «Reputation and respect to the Pack who will hunt down the most Gifted». The man spats it with disgust. «Or the most rogues», he adds more throughtfully, «but that one came later, as a justification for mass murder on neutral grounds, as you already know».

Derek approches the tomb carefully, like he's afraid it could suddenly open wide and swallow him down. «Do you know who...», his jaw clenches, but he forces himself to end the question. It's the last of the respect he owns this man, or woman. «...who's buried here?».

«No», Peter answers, and there's a pang of regret in his voice. «I'm not even sure it's a single tomb. Most of all, it's here to honor the memory of every wolf butchered on these grounds, regardless of the body or bodies buried under it. Some of the corpses were left to rot with no sepulchre at all. This is a way to give them back dignity, as much as we can».

Derek nods, and goes to crouch besides the circle. He brushes one of the stones, and try to think of something to say, but nothing comes. So in the end, he simply swears to himself _I won't forget_ , and rises again.

He's walking back to Peter when his shock and horror dissolve enough for him to make the connection he should have made the second he saw the triskelion. One: there was Gifted and Omega who lived here. Two: they were killed by a Pack of wolves. And three...Three: the closest Pack around is the Hales'. He almost missteps, stumbling.

When he raises his head, Peter's looking at him, eyes sad and horribly understanding. «The closest Pack from here is the Hales», Derek repeats out loud, voice rough. Fear and rage are twisting in his stomach as he asks, eyes flashing with disgust, «Are they the ones who did this?».

«The answer is, I don't know», his uncle murmurs, and his voice seems loud all of a sudden, echoing in the silence of the forest. Derek chokes on air, feeling as through he's been punched in the stomach. 

It's not a yes. But it's not a no, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little precision about the triskelion on the tomb: it's not the same as a triskele. 
> 
> The latter is the symbol you know from the show, tattooed on Derek's back. The former is a variation of it: the triskele is included in a circle. Where the triskele alone means equilibrum between elements, the triskelion means remembrance as well as moving forwards.
> 
> Here's a triskelion: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e8/Wheeled-Triskelion-basic.png


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here 14th (already?) chapter, as usual beated by El^^  
> Enjoy!

Derek is lying on his back in a lazy sprawl, arms crossed behind his head. The only thing troubling the silence is, from time to time, the sound a page being turned. It's almost soothing, in a weird way. knowing that Peter is here, at barely three meters from him, reading in the armchair.

Knowing that he can asks anything he wants, and his uncle will answer as best as he can. It'd been the subject of conversation on the way back. A discussion that had been engaged by Peter after two long hours of brooding silence. He had told his nephew he wanted to make very clear that Derek was welcome at the house anytime of day or night. And that he certainly wasn't 'invading his uncle's life'.

And Derek, rather than sagely nod and put an end to the talk, had, of course, opened his big mouth and retorted that, still, after so much time living alone, suddenly having someone around had to be quite the change. And so, he was just trying to respect Peter's boundaries.

Peter had stopped, muttered «Stubborn as a mule» between his teeth, and said they would discuss this more seriously once they were back, but that, for the moment, he wanted Derek to know he could ask everything he wanted, and that Peter would simply tell him if he didn't wanted to talk about it.

This time, Derek had simply hummed vaguely and stayed silent.

And back they are, so Derek isn't sure how they ended up reading and musing, respectively, and not discussing about anything at all. Well, he guesses he just has to ask something to kindle a conversation, but he's reluctant to break the calm. 

He's half-dozing, enjoying the feeling of peace after the terrible tale of the tomb. He had spent the most part of the way back desperately trying to convince himself that his (old) Pack would never have done someting like that. Would never have butchered people – _children_ \- just because they were different. 

_Monster_ , Laura had told him that day on the river edge, and even if they had more or less mended things since, it still had hurt. But at this moment, when he had turned his back on the tomb, he had throught that if she wanted to see monsters that badly, maybe she should tell Father to take a look in the mirror. And eventually join him. 

When Peter had began to talk, Derek could have fucking kissed him for the disturbance in his morbid, bitter throughts. Not that the subject was the one he would have picked, given a choice, but still. Any escape from his turmoil was a good one. Cue his answering the truth, rather than keeping a low profile and make sure Peter dropped it.

He's not even sure why it bothers him so much. Because, come on, he's (pretty) sure Peter doesn't have any intention to ask him to leave. Well, unless he decided to let Derek use his bed for one last nap before he's kicked out...

But jokes aside, it's not like Peter has given Derek any reasons to think he's a burden in any way. The older wolf didn't change his rhythm for Derek at all. The man's still up at six in the morning – the idea makes Derek positively shudder – takes his run, and busies himself the rest of the day without dotting on his nephew. Thank God.

Because, no mistake, Derek's totally on board with the programm. He rises when he wants to and, quite frankly, he's free to do as he wishes, werether he goes out or stays in and fires a debate with his uncle. As long as he doesn't disappear on Peter without warning, he can do whatever he wants. 

Not that it's like when he still was in the Pack. Not at all; they let him out and alone because it meant he was mostly out of the way. With Peter, for all their silences and apprent indifference, he fully well knows that the second he wants to take up a conversation, or make a comment, he'll get an answer.

And that's okay with him, especially considering that Peter is Pack, now, in more than one way. Family, yes, but most of all Pack brothers. They're perfectly at ease with each other in everyday life, knowing how to work together without crowding each other's space. Frankly, for two people who met two years ago and see each other about five, six times a year, they go along really great. 

Still, sometimes, Derek can't help but feel like he's constantly pawing at Peter with his questions and problems. And he doesn't want that. 

But on the other hand, he has to admit, his uncle never had any problem expressing his disagreement or displeasure over anything. The man even had the guts to leave his Pack behind years ago to make a point, so Derek doubts he would hesitate to tell him to fuck off if need be.

But still and again, there's this little voice gnawing at his logic. It's so easy to forget that, for all he feels at home here, this is _Peter_ 's space. His den, on his territory. And as such, there are rules. Or at least, there should be. 

Or...or maybe he's thinking like a Pack member again, falling back on old patterns. Could that be the actual problem? That Derek's searching for...what? Autority? It kind of makes sense, he supposes. After all, he had an Alpha for as long as he can remember. The change is quite huge, even if he didn't realise it at first.

Derek hesitates, rising up on a elbow as discretly as possible to steal a look at Peter across the room. His uncle is apparently engrossed in his read, but his eys rise to met his nephew's almost instantly. «Yes, Derek?», he asks with a smile, and to his effarement and profound horror, Derek feels himself blush furiously at being caught out. 

But it won't be said Derek Hale is not headstrong, because he soldiers on determinedly, concentrating very hard on not clearing his troat or something equally dumb. _Pull it the fuck together_ , he harshly shakes himself. _You're not going to ask him to marry you, for Christ's sake!_

« So I was wondering if it was possible that you were my... kind of Alpha?». Peter's eybrows slowly rise, but his expression grows serious under his suprise. He closes his book with a decisive snap, puts it on the table and turns his chair to face Derek. «Why Alpha, and why 'kind of'?».

«Err...», Derek begins oh-so eloquently. «Well, kind of because you don't have the...status...rank...I mean, the red eyes and the rest, you know». Derek makes a vague gesture, feeling more idiotic by the minute, and Peter frowns like he _knows_ indeed. Or maybe like he's wondering what the fuck he'd smoked the day he invited Derek in. Sometimes - like right now - Derek does wonder, too.

«And Alpha because I...I'm always searching for, I dunno, rules, I guess? Or authority, maybe? It's like I...need to...not obey, but...». He shrugs, unable to put words on his feeling. «I really don't know. It's a bit like an instinct, but not quite. Sometimes, I just feel a bit...lost, and having rules to follow, it...calms me?». He shrugs anew. Better shut up. If he keeps trying to explain, the whole thing will simply end up even more incomprehensible.

Peter nods slowly, once, like Derek's babble make sense. «As you already pointed out», his uncle calmly says, «I'm not Alpha, nor I wish to be. So no, I'm certainly not your Alpha». Peter fells silent a few seconds, seemingly musing something over. «As for this feeling of yours...I have to admit I'm mostly at loss. I never felt any urge to find an Alpha, but...».

«But?», Derek repeats, encouraging the man to unravel his throughts. «But James and I were briefly in competion over the title, when we were seventeen. So it's not impossible that I became... more or less immune to this kind of instinct», Peter explains like it's no big deal. 

Derek stares. «Wait, wait. You _what_?». He takes the words in, reeling. Peter was an Alpha-to-be? He feels something akin to regret when he realises that, had his uncle became Alpha, he would never have lost his Pack. Not because of his Gift, at least. The throught is bitter enough to burn, but it's also useless. You can't remake the world, sadly, so Derek chases it away quickly.

Well, he reflects, finally he knows why James is so hostile to his brother, even without the Gift thing. Having to fight for the position...his eyes suddenly narrow when a throught hits him. «You lost?», he asks Peter incredulously, because he saw the man fight, and he's pretty sure he's one of the best combattants he knows. And maybe also because he wants Peter to have kicked James' ass. Just a bit.

«I did». Peter grins, apparently not very chargrined over the memory of his lost fight. «James may be a narrow minded idiot, but he does _know_ how to fight. Always did, even when we were teens. And I, on the other hand...well, I could hold my own when necessary, but I wasn't that much of a fighter. Not at the time». The man's smile turns a bit rueful. «So I took quite the beating, and James obtained his place as future Alpha».

Peter shrugs, closing the topic. «To come back to the matter at hand...». He pauses, fingertips carefully presssed on each other. «Well, I suppose it's not impossible that after so being born and have lived under an Alpha for eighteen years, you became accustomed to it», he admits. «But except to tell you it'll go away in time, I can't do much».

Derek nods, not really surprised. He likes Peter, respects his knowledge a great deal, but he's perfectly aware that the man isn't omniscient. He'd asked because it would have been stupid not to – if there had been a quick solution, the better – but he hadn't been holding his breath either. «Well», he says matter of factly, «guess I'll have to take one day at time».

He's about to fall back on the bed, when Peter says, «Since you started a conversation...», and Derek knew that breaking the silence would bring the subject back, but he still lets out a pained sigh. «Look,» he begins, sitting up. Maybe if he takes the lead, this will be finished more quickly. One can hope. 

«I appreciate the fact that you're always ready to help me as much as you can, and I can't begin tell you how much it means to me that you allowed me in your house. But it's...». Derek rakes a hand in his hair, frustrated. He doesn't want to sound petty or ungrateful, here, but maybe it's time be honest, with himself as well as with Peter. 

«You were here these two last months, and I'll never thank you enough for that. But I won't always have you at my back, will I? So I need to learn how to manage things on my own. If it wasn't for you, all of this would have turned pretty ugly, pretty fast, and I wouldn't have been able to do a thing. I was too weak. I lack the knowledge, and I lack the power. And I'm not going to obtain these by leaning on you all the time».

Derek winces. That sounded a lot less harsh in his head. It's almost like he's reproaching these things to Peter, when in reality, the only one who wasn't strong enough is him. He opens his mouth to try and correct himself, but Peter's quicker than him, and anyways, hearing his uncle suddenly damn James to hell out loud would have made him shut up.

While Derek stares at him – because Peter doesn't curse that often, and certainly not _that_ vehemently – the man in question gets up and joins Derek on the bed, nudging him gently out of the way. Peter sits down on the matress, cross-legged, in front of his nephew. 

«I knew you were used to be on your own, but I didn't think it was that bad», he begins softly. «But I'm beggining to understand that James and the rest of them fucked up quite spectaculary». He helds up a hand when Derek looks like he might protest that's not the point. 

«No, listen. I let you say your piece, now it's my turn». Derek has to admit he has a point, and he settles down reluctantly. «You say you want to be able to hold your own, against me, or against anyone. I understand, and I agree wholeheartedly. I'll never try to stop you from learning more and getting stronger; God knows you'll need it if you live as a Gifted Omega».

«However, I have to disagree when you tell me you're weak because you are leaning on me. Derek, _of course_ you do lean on me». Peter grips his wrist and gives it a shake, like he's trying to impress his point in his nephew's skin. «You're eighteen, and you just turned Omega. Did you expect to deal with it all alone?».

Derek shrugs, mutters, «You did it», and Peter whistles through his teeth, the sound just this side of exasperated. The man's probably cursing his stubborness to hell and back. Derek tries to stay serious, but he can't help the amused twitch of his lips. 

Of course, Peter notices, and he lets out a low laugh, his grip on Derek wrist softening almost to a caress. Derek half closes his eyes, relishing the sensation. It always feels good to be touching Peter, as he discovered these last days. And if the calm that settles all around them is any proof, the feeling's mutual. They stay like this for a long minute, before Peter break the silence.

«There is something very different in ours situations, Derek», he says in an undertone, like he doesn't really want to trouble their newfound pacefulness, but needs to see the disscussion to its end. «I _wanted_ to leave. When the Pack bond broke, it was _my_ doing, and it shielded me from the worst of it. Imagine it as a thread you decide to cut. Your thread, however, wasn't cut. It was ripped off from you. It's only natural that you came to me: I'm the last remain of something close to a Pack you could find».

«I know you're not used to ask for help, or to have it provided, but asking isn't being weak. It's being Pack». Peter eyes are boring in Derek's when he adds fiercly. «There are only a few things I wouldn't do for you...but anything else,werether it's a question or a demand for help, or simple companionship, I would gladly provide. Anything you need. That's being Pack; and I know you would do it for any Packmate, but you need to understand that it's a two-way street. I'm here for you as much as you're here for me. Anytime».

Derek nods slowly, taking a deep breath. He knew that, of course he did. Intellectualy. But nobody in the Pack ever...actually told him that they would be by his side no matter what. And it feels good. Really, really good. He nods again, and the silence streches for a few seconds before Peter gently extract his hand from Derek's and climbs off the bed.

Derek lets him go, even through he would have liked for his uncle to stay a bit longer. He doesn't want to cuddle often, but right now, he would like very much to be able to curl close and just be there for a little while. 

Derek tracks Peter's progress as the man walks to the frige, takes a bottle of water, and then goes back to the table, sits down and takes up his book... «Peter?», he calls almost against his will, unsure of what the hell he's doing. The older wolf doesn't seem at all bothered with Derek interrupting his reading again. Or maybe he just hides it well.

But no. Peter said anything you want, and Derek knows he meant it. So he asks, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as he can. «Would you mind...reading on the bed?». He instantly bites his tongue, hard. What the fuck was that? It sounded like half like a sexual proposition, half like an incoherent question. _Jesus_. What the hell is wrong with him?

Peter apparently takes pity on him, because he doesn't comment, simply says, «Not at all», and rises to come and lie down besides his nephew, expression open and warm. Derek feels a tension he didn't know was here suddenly ease, and his hesistance disappears. He curls half atop Peter, feeling appeased and safe, his whole body relaxing.

He closes his eyes and hums in contentement when Peter's fingers begin to stroke his hair.

∼

«Hey, Peter?». The man cracks one eye open to look at his nephew. 

«I'm going out. Exercise a little. I'll be back in three, four hours, okay?». An hum of agreement, and Peter goes back to his nap. For all his foul mood, Derek can't help an amused smile. When there's no crisis or fights going on, there's nothing wolves like more than catnaps, preferably when piling on each other.

He gets back up and out without bothering to put his shirt on. He's too deep in the wood to risk meeting someone, and even so, he would hear or smell them before they had a chance to stumble on him.

He takes the path leading behind the house, jogging quickly. He wants to go back in the clearing where Peter practiced his katas earlier in the week. It's perfect for the kind of training he wants to do. That is, the hard, unforgiving practice that's violent enough to run even wolves to the ground.

With each step, each stride away from Peter's calming influence, he feels rage pumping that much harder in his blood. Rage, and disgust. _I don't know_ , Peter had said. But in the end, it doesn't matter, because maybe the Hale Pack didn't kill these Gifted themselves, but they let it happen. You won't make Derek believe, not even for a second, that an Alpha doesn't know what's going on six little miles away from his territorry frontiers. 

They knew, they fucking _knew_ , and they looked the other way. Derek's a rather tolerant person, he knows. He can understand duty before blood ties, can accept that family make mistakes...He can even get the narrow-mindedness of _certain_ poeple, a little. But that? Hypocrisy and cowardice and cruelty?

That, he can't forgive. Can't even begin to comprehend it. What the fuck is wrong with the world, he wonders, that _werewolves_ , of all people, decide that floating above the ground is too weird of a capacity to be allowed? That you should die for it?

Fuck, it disgusts him to think, even for a second, that he could have became that way, too, if it hadn't been for his taste for being alone, and his Gift and, most of all, _Peter_. For all it hurt at the time, he's never been more relived to be out of the Pack before.

The Pack...he always heard in his childhood that the Hales were known for being a strong Pack, stable and very-well etablished. All trustworthy members, respectful of others and all very close to each other. Well, you bet they are: when you throw the opposition out and go with the flow without ever standing up for anything, people love you, no doubt about it.

Derek speeds up, feeling the wolf ripple under his skin, answering to the violence of his emotions. A sign that every wolf knows to recognise as the warning that they're letting their anger get the better of them. But he doesn't care. That's why he got out of the house and away from his uncle. He doesn't want lessons on control, and he doesn't want to disturb Peter. The man deserves his nap. 

What he wants, however, is to let go, to wolf out and rip... _something_...to sherds. And then do it again. And again, until he feels less like finding James and spit every single insult he knows at his face before trying to beat the shit out of him. Not that he would succed, but _God_ he would try.

He sighs and forces himself to slow his run. He need to calm down, even just a little. In his state, he's too dangerous to anyone that he could cross paths with. Not that he believes he will actually met someone, but... he's been raised all his live in the idea that he had to always, always be the one controlling the shift and not the other way round, and that, at least, he agrees with. He takes a deep breath, and starts to walk.

By the time he reaches the clearing – about fifteen minutes later – he feels like he won't rip out the troat of the first person he sees, which is progress. But he's still strung too tight, the shift barely a throught away, slithering under his skin like a living fire. He needs to turn and fight, he knows. Too bad he's all alo...

He only senses the movement behind him at the last second, and he barely whirls around in time to parry the hit and escape having his back slashed from shoulder to hip. He grabs his adversary's wrist, aiming a vicious gash at the other's stomach, but the werewolf rips from his grip with superior strengh and gracefully ducks away. 

Derek growls in defiance, and Peter's grin widen, showing too many teeth to be fully human. «So, I guees the rule is 'all out til one of us can't move, pinned or otherwise', yes?».

In lieu of answer, Derek jumps on him, and Peter laughs.


	16. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here chapter 15, a bit late, sorry! And as usual, a big thanks to El^^
> 
> Enjoy!

Derek lands on his back so hard that he distincly hears the breaking of the bone. Or, rather, of the bones. Teeth clenched on a cry of pain, he waits until the sharp stab fades, slowly receding to leave the warm tingle of healing in its wake.

He gets up on an elbow to glare at Peter, who's looking at him with a smirk. You know, whatever he was thinking earlier about how much he likes and respects the man? Forget it. His uncle is a fucking sadist, and Derek is going to land a blow on his smug face even if he has to break his whole skeleton to do it.

He rises, eyes fixed on Peter like he can make the thunder fall down on him just by staring darkly enough. It only makes Peter's smile widen, and Derek feels anger simmer in his gut. He growls, harsh and dangerous, and bounds forward.

While running at full speed towards Peter, Derek feels his pace suddenly stagger, like he's hitting an invisible wall. But he's not fourteen anymore, and it's almost instinct by now. He pushes with all his might, fixes his mind to the idea of being behind Peter instead of in front of him...For a heartbeat, everything blurs around him, and his senses go mute.

And then the world comes back in sharp focus, and Derek slashes...the air. More or less. Peter whirls round, impossibly quick, grabing Derek's wrist and twisting,visibly intending to bring him on his knees in an arm lock. 

Derek hisses a breath in surprise – fuck, how is the man so _fast_? - but nonetheless goes with the movement rather than resisting, rolling outwards and down until he can aim a savage kick at his uncle's left kneecap. 

The move is merciless, meant to shatter the bone so wholly and terribly that even a wolf would need several long hours to recover. Instincts are high, and they're not pulling their punches, too caught up in the confrontation.

Of course, Derek never hits his target; Peter instantly dodges, but the goal's attained. His uncle had to let go of him. He pushes his advantage, moving along with Peter and slashing at his thigh, aiming to weaken rather than than to strike a decisive hit. 

He knows he won't pass through the older wolf guard; Peter's actually staying on the defensive purposefully, letting him go on the attack, and he's probably even slowing down to give his nephew more openings.

Still, ripping through flesh and seeing the blood fall on the ground fills him with a fierce joy. He can't beat Peter, not yet...But the fact remains: if he can hold his own against his uncle...he can hold his own against virtually anyone. He knows he's still ways off from that point, especially considering that Peter's visibly downplaying his fighting abilities; but he'll get here in the end. He swears it to himself.

Still, it won't be today apparently. Peter suddenly grins at him wickedly, and Derek's flat on his back, Peter's weight pining him down, his wrists locked under his uncle's knees, before he has any chance to see it coming. 

He instinctively thrusts his hips up, then twists on the side, trying to throw Peter off balance over his shoulder, but the positioning is not the best – he can't use his arms for momentum, and his uncle, no doubt seeing the move coming, has put his weight forwards on his nephew. He's unmovable. 

Derek struggles for about a minute more, and then huffs in exasperation. «Alright, you win. I yield». Peter smirks. «And...?», he prompts mischievously, eyes alight with laugher. «You can do better than that, I'm sure».

Derek rolls his eyes. «And...you are a great and dangerous fighter, and I bow to your superior skills». He waits, and, as his uncle doesn't seem to get the hint, he adds dryly, «Can you get off me, now?».

Peter rises an amused eyebrow, and by the dangerous glint in his eyes, Derek can say he's considering making him work for it. But the man finally shakes his head with a smile, and Derek can't help but feel a bit of relief. He may have put in a hit or two, but generally speaking, he got quite the beating. He's fine with the training coming to an end.

Peter rolls off him to get to his feet, agile as a cat. «I'll be magnanimous, for once», he says, tone exaggeratinly haughtily. «But don't think you'll get off the hook that easily next time». Derek's perfectly aware that the second part of the sentence is perfectly serious. He'd better read on ground fighting later. For the time being, he nods sagely. «Got it, your Highness», he retorts wryly. 

He lets out a long breath. He's not feeling like getting up, the warm, slightly aching tiredness of a good workout settling in. But he needs to strech a bit. It's not because you're a wolf that you're not prone to stiffness; it simply means said stiffness goes away more quickly. 

Doesn't change the fact that it make you feel eighty-year old – after all, werewolves hit hard – until it all heals. And even close-distance teleporting always leaves him a bit sore. Streching will allow him to evade most of it. He just has to find the will to do it even after an exhausting spar. So, getting up.

He's bracing himself to move, vaillantly fighting the gravitational pull of the grass in order to get on his knees, when Peter offers him a hand up. Too tired to be proud, he takes it gratefully, letting his uncle drag him on his feet.

Derek brushes himself off a bit and lets his neck roll. He winces at the cracks of bones snapping in place. Yep, strech needed. Definitely. With a sigh, he forces himself to begin a quick sequence. He may be tired, but he knows he'll very much regret it in a few hours if he doesn't do the effort now.

Peter, on the other hand, doesn't even have the delicacy to act like he needs a few streches. _Bastard_ , Derek thinks sullently, watching him prop himself on a tree, leaving his nephew all the space he wants. The man is even looking vaguely amused by Derek's gymnastic – which is a bit ridiculous, he has to admit. But hey, it's streching, not fucking ballet. It does its job. 

He goes through a second sequence, then a thrid, more quick, before he goes join his uncle, who sat in the grass a few minutes ago. He lets himself fall down besides Peter with a satisfied huff.

All of his boilling anger of three hours ago has vanished about half an hour into the fight. It's kinda difficult to cling to your rage when you fight with Peter, considering that – execpt for a few assaults from Derek here and there - the fight consist in the older wolf doing the attacking, and Derek dodging all around and trying to save...well, not life, but limb, at the very last. 

He smiles ruefully. Maybe Peter wasn't a good fighter at seventeen, but he sure made up for it since. And he didn't go easy on Derek either, which was exactly what he wanted. And what he needed. «Thanks», he says, low, but knowing Peter will catch it all the same. There's no answer, but he wasn't waiting for one.

He stretches out lazily in the sun, pleasantly warm, and loses himself in the contemplation of the sky, letting his throughts wander.

Almost two months already, since this day when he used his Gift to save John. Time flies so quickly. And, at the same time, two months seem such a little timeframe for everything to change so much. Being thrown out, becoming Omega, coming to live with Peter. 

Well, he's mostly assuming the later, with their dissucussion earlier; and anyway it's august, 29, so the question will probably be answered at the start of the school year. If Peter wants him out in september, he'll crash at Brian for a couple of days, and then he'll find a job and a studio flat somewhere. He can be crafty if need be, so Derek's not overly concerned with it. He'll think on it later; right now, he's just enjoying a ray of sun and Peter's compagnionable silence.

«I'll miss this, you know», Derek murmurs. «When I start school again. Miss spending my time with you». He turns his head to find Peter looking a him with a fond smile. «It'll be mutual», the older wolf answers, bumping shoulders gently with his nephew. Derek grins, felling stupidly warm and happy, and bumps back.

It doesn't end exactly like he expected, however, because Peter's skin is warm, and he smells like Pack and safe, and it's so nice...Derek's body curls up closer, head falling to pillow on his uncle's shoulder before his brain can engage.

Peter's chuckle stirs a hot breath on his forehead. «Are you falling asleep on me? I didn't push you _that_ hard, did I?». Derek emits a humming sound that could be negative or affirmative, depending on your mood. «You didn't. S'just...nice». Derek takes a deep breath, enjoying the distinctive smell of leather and damp forest always clinging to his uncle skin. It really feels amazing.

It will be so weird not to have Peter around all day, he muses; when he still was with the Pack, school days didn't change much. And he had Laura and the others close to converse with, wherether they were in the same room or not. Perks of being a werewolf. 

Now, he certainly doesn't intend to approch them in any way, thank you very much, but at the same time...well, it means he'll be alone. Brian'll be here, of course, but he doesn't know, and he's not Pack. Derek really likes him, no mistake. After all, Brian's his best friend. But it's just not the same as having Pack only a word away, knowing that he can struck up a conversation over two corridors the second he's bored.

The only positive thing – except seeing Brian, because he may be human, but Derek genuinely likes the guy – will be that the swiming training will start again. It's not that much of a challenge, but it's one of the very rare sports that allows to be less thightly controlled. 

He won't hurt anybody if his control is more loose, and letting go, at last a little, feels very good. Not sparing-with-Peter kind of awsome, but good enough.

«I can see that». Peter's answer shakes Derek out of his musings. The words could be cutting, if it wasn't for the touch of tenderness in the tone. Derek still forces himself to look up; after all, it's not very polite to use people as pillows without their permission, and Peter never gave it, even if he didn't object either.

«Sorry», he says, a bit sheepishly. «I just felt a bit...drained for a second. Didn't mean to crash on you». Peter shrugs, visibly amused by his nephew's embarrassment. «In itself, I don't mind in the slightest. But since it's already seven, maybe we could go home». 

He gently nudges Derek on the side so he can get up, stretching once before throwing a sardonic glance over his shouler, «Just to be sure you fall on a bed instead». The quip makes color rise on Derek's cheeks, and he glares at Peter...just before yawning hugely.

«Shut up», he warns the second his jaw clicks sgut again. Peter mimes zipping his lips, but his eyes say it all. Derek gets up and whacks him none-too-gently on the arm in retalliation for whatever ironic things he's thinking. The man has at least the grace of not trying to dodge.

∼

They treck back at lazy pace, enjoying the last of sunrays. No words are exchanged, but the atmosphere is not heavy at all, Peter seeming perfectly at ease with the long silence. It's one of the things Derek loves the most about the man: he doesn't feel the urge to fill the blanks, nor he begins to get twitchy when there are lulls in the conversation.

Derek smiles widens just a bit, even as he feels a pang of regret. He loves spending time with Peter, and it's true that his uncle get him in a way no one else does...but frankly, what does it say about him that he's not able to go along with any members of his family at all, except for the only one who's just as much wiewed as a weirdo than Derek is? 

Most of the time, Derek thinks the others are just morons. But sometimes, he really, really feels like a freak.

He starts violently when Peter suddenly turns and grabs his chin,. « _What_ », he hisses savagely, «did you just called yourself?». Derek flinches. He probably would have turned away, except his uncle's grip is like steel. «It's not...», but Peter cuts across his words. «Don't tell me it's no big deal», he warns, more calmly, but with iron in his words still. Derek shrugs, inwardly cursing his big mouth.

Peter lets out a tired sigh and shifts his hand so he can cup Derek's cheek. «Not that», he whispers fiercly, forehead pressed to his nephew's. «Derek, _never_ that». Derek swallows, closes his eyes and presses back. «What then?», he asks softly. «Because I'm certainly not normal. And I swear, if you tell me 'you're a werewolf, screw normal', I _will_ punch you».

Peter lips twitch, but he quickly become serious again. «No, not normal», he agrees gently. He slips two finger under Derek's chin, forcing the young wolf to look him in the eyes. « _Special_. Not better, and certainly not worse. Special. More than you'll probably ever know. Different isn't bad, it's...».

«...just different», Derek ends, voice caught somewhere in his troat. «I know. Pity most people doesn't think the same». It's Peter's turn to shrug. «Most people are morons», he says matter-of-factly. It's a startling echo of his nephew's earlier throughts, and Derek can't help his brust of laugher. «Yeah», he says once his hilarity has died down. «I guess so».

Peter slings an arm across his shoulders and squeezes. «Good. Never forget it».

∼

It's around nine by the time they arrive to house, and the first thing Derek does is to instantly disppear in the tiny bathroom to take a shower. Well, he does ask Peter if he wants to shower first, but his uncle retorts sardonically that he can go ahead, since he's the one who need it the most.

Derek childishly sticks his tongue out at him, but he still takes the bathroom gratefully, after grabing a clean set of clothes - newly-buyed, because he didn't want to go back to the house to get his old things. Too much bother.

He doesn't need much of what's here, anyways, except for his class bag, pens and notes. But he'll teleport by one night soon, and he'll be off before any of them has a chance to catch him. _Or they can catch him if they want_ , he mentally corrects fiercly. _It won't change anything_.

Short of wolfsbane – he supposes, not that he hed the chance to test it - or being knocked inconscious, nothing can tie him down somewhere he doesn't want to be. He's Gifted, after all. _Special_ , Peter had said, and he rather likes it. He agrees with his uncle, it doesn't mean he's better. But it _does_ mean he's capable of more, the same way werewolves are able of so much more than humans.

He never was ashamed of being a wolf; never felt ill at ease with it, even through the hunters were here to call them monsters on a – at least – monthly basis. And as for his Gift...true, the ones calling him monster were relatives, and that's why it hurt so much more. But just like the hunters, it didn't mean they were right

When it came to it, Gifts and werewolf abilities weren't that different. You could kill and destroy equally with the two: the Lauren Pack and the Gifted trackers were proof enough of it, after all. In the end it was what you chose to do with it that mattered.

Peter had saved his Pack – at high cost, sure, but still. They only were alive thanks to him. And Derek had saved his younger brother. He has no reason to be ashamed of that, just like he wouldn't be ashamed if he had helped John with his wolf capacities.

 _Special_ , indeed. He won't forget again.

He grins at his reflection and steps in the shower. His smile disappears the second the warm water hits his back, through. All of the aches seem to suddenly come back with a vengeance, and he nearly groans aloud. Fuck, Peter really did a number on him.

He closes his eyes and lets the water drum down his back and nape, making muscles uncoil and relax inch by inch. Derek half- dozes for long minutes, before regretfully rousing himself. Maybe Peter let him go first, but his uncle probably wants a shower too, preferably with warm water left.

And if the throught wasn't incentive enough to overcome his slacking urges, the intriguing chime of his cell, however, is. He cuts the water off and get out, wrapping himself in a big towel. It's Brian probably, considering the hour. Besides, Laura doesn't have any reason to text him, and Peter would call through the door.

He's not suprised to notice he's right; the guess was easy. The content of the message, on the other hand, make him frown. _Did you heard? Syler left_. Syler is Antony Syler, their athletic, dry as dust, forty year-old swim coach.

A harsh man, not very patient, and rather cold on the top of it. But a good teacher nonetheless, if you manage to adapt to his hard teacing methods. And, no, Derek certainly didn't know the man had left.

 _Left? To where? And who's going to remplace him?_ He types back in question. He has the time to dry himself and slip his clothes on before the reply comes in.

 _Sorry, I was setting the table, Mom's orders. Dunno where he went, exactly. 'Parently he was proposed a new post somewhere. Can't say I blame the guy; he's probably paid a lot better, no matter where his job is_. Derek smirks slightly at this one while he gets out of the room.

He finds Peter...setting up the table, actually. Well, looks like the priorities at 9PM of the evening don't vary much whether you're wolf or human. «I'll take care of that, if you want to use the bathroom», he calls out, and Peter pauses in his arrangement to throw him a warm smile. «With pleasure».

While his uncle showers, Derek takes up on the glasses positioning after a quick message of _Setting the table, uncle's orders^^ Give me five mins?_ to Brian. The reply cames barely a minute later: _So Peter's around? At least I know why I covered you for the other night ;) And yeah, no hurry, man!_

Derek laughs to himself. Brian is one of the few – no, actually he's the only one who know how close Peter and him are. The others think they're friendly enough, but still just accointances. Brian knows about the book and debates, and how much better Derek feels in his uncle company.

Of course, Brian doesn't know the whole of it, but he has the gist of the story: Peter's been rejected by the family, and nobody likes him very much among the Hales, except for Derek. And so, he's used to cover for Derek when he spends an day, afternoon or evening with Peter.

Derek puts the down the last knife, and grabs his cell, and goes to the armchair by the library. _So, we have no teacher for the beggining of the year? That sucks!_ Brian answers quickly, the excitation in the words almost palpable. _That's the thing, we do! A wowan, actually, if you're to belive the rumors!_

_And you're besides youself for a woman? Throught it wasn't your thing...Did something happen over summer that you forgot to tell me?_

_Fuck you_ , cames the answer. _And I'm not anyway. Just enthusiatic. Anybody will be better the Syler. I swear, the guy was a harpy in disguse_.

Derek laughs just as Peter gets out of the bathroom. His uncle rises an eybrow. «Care to share the joke?». Derek shakes his head, «It's about my old swim teacher», he says, «you won't get it, since you don't know the guy».

Peter rolls his eyes. «I'm not sure I want to get it, actually, especially seeing how it was making you snicker like a hyena. Just say hi to Brian from me, and come eat, would you?». Derek nods, and quickly fires off, _Dinner calling, sorry. Peter says hi by the way._

He gets on his feet, and struck by a sudden throught, adds, _Do you happen to know the name of our mysterious new teacher?_ before hitting send. And then he puts the mobile on silencer and goes join Peter at the table, missing Brian's answer a few seconds later.

_Tell him I say hi back^^ And they say her name's Kate something, I think._


	17. Chapter 16

«You look like you're psyching yourself up to walk down the road of hell».

Derek doesn't let the mocking tone rile him up, and keeps staring morosely into his coffee. Peter rolls his eyes. «Really, there's no need for this sulk of yours. You have what, five hours today? It's not that much». And as purposely uncaring as _that_ was, at last, it finally gets a reaction out of his nephew.

«That's six, actually», he retorts scathingly. «And _excuse_ me for not being all bright and happy at the idea of seeing them after the disaster of three days ago». And he asserts his reply with a dark glare before going back to staring his coffee down.

Peter sighs. «I know», he says more gently. «But still...you're not even sure she spoke to them. Maybe she kept it to herself, and they'll simply ignore you?». Derek lets out a sardonic laugh at that. «No they won't. You didn't saw her, Peter. She...»

He shakes his head. Anger, he could have accepted. After all, he had been in what now was her chamber without authorization. Fear...he could have understood; Cora had been away in a boarding school for almost three years, so they were practically strangers.

But it hadn't been anger on his younger sister face. Not fear, either. It had been terror. Pure, plain as day terror. Because of him.

∼

Peter slips in an empty corner and turns the contact off before glancing at Derek who didn't seem to notice he stopped the car. His nephew is staring into space, lost in his throughts, face pressed against the glass. «Derek?», Peter calls out. «We're here».

Derek snaps out of his somber reverie. He quickly takes in his surroundings. They're parked just in front of the school, actually, and the students passing by are being loud enough to wake the dead. He really was out of it, to not notice. 

With an impatient shake of the head at his own stupidity – what kind of werewolf is he, to be so busy angsting that he forgets about everything else? - and rakes a hand through his hair angrily, ruthlessly waking himself.

He turns to Peter. «Thanks», he says, trying to sound normal rather than moody. This is not his uncle's fault, after all. He ended up in this situation all by himself like a grown-up. _Moron_ , he savagely tells himself, but his voice stays steady when he adds out loud, «You don't have to drop by tonight, you know. I can walk if you're busy or something».

Peter waves the comment away. «It's no problem», he assures easily, but his voice grows more tense when he continues, «Besides, even through I hope you're wrong...I'd rather be around, just in case». Derek swallows, because that's exacly what he was trying not to think about. «I don't think it'll really come to that», he offers, and fuck he hopes so. «I mean, Laura isn't reckless enough to do anything in the school, it's too risky».

«Certainly», Peter agrees. «David, however, is a hot-headed imbecile. He takes after James in that way, and I'm not sure if he'll be able to listen to reason. Your sister is no Alpha, after all, so he can do as he pleases in the end».

Derek sighs and lets his head fall on the headrest. «I know», he murmurs. They have had this conversation already, and they had drawn the same conclusions back then. If danger comes, it will come from his older brother. 

Derek would like to be able to say he's sure David woun't dare attack him on school grounds, but...well, it's not like he doesn't have good reasons. Hell, Derek would most certainly beat the shit of anybody terrifying a sibling of his that way, no matter the reason. 

For his defense, he didn't know Cora had came back, and certainly not that she had taken his room. Derek had expected an empty chamber. Instead, when he had teleported on the bed – to muffle any sounds – he had litteraly tripped over her. 

She had been sleeping, and for that Derek was grateful. It had given him the time to press a had over her mouth and pin her to the bed. He had silently thanked the gods it was Cora and not Laura, David or one of the adults, and looked down to tell her that he just wanted his bag and he would be off.

That's when he had seen it: terror, dancing like a mad will-o-the-wisp in her eyes. Her breathing had turned ragged, her body tense as a wire under his. For a foolish second, he had been so stricken by the idea of inflincting such an ugly fear on his own sister - on a fucking eleven year old - that he almost had relinquished his hold.

Thankfully for him, a little voice in his head – that sounded suspicioulsy like Peter's – reminded him that the second he let her go, she would howl his head off and every single Pack member would burst in. Caught for caught, Derek had reasoned with a cool calculatedness that had seemed natural at the time, he could at last try damage control.

Pressing down on her to stop her stuggles, he had said as calmly as he could, «I'm not here to hurt you in any way. I just want that». He had designed the bag lying in the corner besides the window with a jerk of the head. «So you're going to extend your arm – slowly – and grab it for me. And then I'll be gone».

She had looked at him like she didn't believe a word he just said. Like she expected him to rip her troat off the second he had what he had come for. But she still carefully did as he said – not like Derek was giving her much of a choice.

Derek's hand had closed on the bag, and for a heartbeat – for an unforgivable second – he had considered striking her unconscious and simply teleporting away. The second he had trought it, he had felt disgust well up in him. Had he really become that fucked up? He had put the throught down decisively and reported his attention on Cora – who still seemed certain he was going maim her horribly. 

Taking a careful breath, he had said, still trying to sound in control rather than afraid. «Now, you're going to close your eyes, and you won't open them again until at last five minutes. I meant it, Cora, and I'll know if you don't do it». He had absolutely loathed doing this, but what others options had he?

Just as he had throught, she had been terrified enough to instantly screw her eyes shut on the tears that had welled up. Hating himself, Derek had swiftly rolled away and teleported the second he had touched the ground.

One hour later, when he had came back from his morning run, Peter had found him curled on himself on the armchair, face pressed on his draw up knees, the bag thrown in a hap on the ground. He had taken his uncle over half an hour to get the story out of him.

That had been three days ago.

∼

The bell makes Derek blink away the rembrance in favor of getting a move in. That was just the first bell, so he still has about ten minutes, but he'd rather get his bearings about him if he doesn't want to get detention the first day.

«Look, I really need to get going. I'll be careful, I promise». He's about to open the car door when his uncle grabs his wrist, gentle but unyeilding. «You don't have to go, Derek, not if you don't want to», Peter says, eyes deadly serious.

He would really cover for him if Derek asked, he knows. Two months ago, the idea would have riled him up because he would have throught Peter didn't believe he could handle it. And then he would have jumped on the occasion anyway, too happy to miss a school day.

Now...now, he knows that Peter's only asking out of genuine worry for him, even through his uncle knows him enough to guess his answer. «Thanks», he says with the most real smile he had in a few days. «But no thanks. I'll manage». 

And in the end, he thinks, maybe the whole thing happened because of his stupidity or lack of planning skills, but the fact that he had to fucking sneak into his own (old) house to get what he needed is rather telling. He's not the only one to blame here.

So. He's guilty as charged about Cora, and he owes her serious explanations and apologies, there's no doubt about that. But he owes it to _her_ , and not anybody else. David may be righteous in his anger, but it doesn't mean Derek is going to let himself be pushed around. If he wants a fight, he'll find one, and probably not with the results he expects.

And besides, he swore after the trial that he wouldn't doubt anymore. _Special_ , he reminds himself. _Don't be ashamed. Never be ashamed. Never run away_. The sentence is becoming quite the personnal mantra, but why not? He's tired of second guessing himself at every turn, while his old Pack sits at ease with Gifted blood on their hands. _He_ did nothing wrong. 

Well... he supposes that's debatable. Let's say that he hasn't been too much of a coward to stop cold-blooded murder, at last.

And as for Cora...he fucked up on that count, he knows. Pretty spectacularly. But that's between her and him. The others, all the others – except maybe Laura, because she did try to talk, after all – they can go fuck themselves. Especially David. Derek's done being torn up. If they find him that disgusting, too bad for them, because he doesn't care.

He nods decisively, and squeezes Peter's fingers. «I'll be fine», and it's a wow to his uncle as much as himself. «After all», he adds with a smirk, «...a wise little bird told me I was special». He's turning around once more, one hand on the handle, when Peter suddenly tugs at his wrist, and Derek can only fall into a fierce embrace.

For a second, he just stay here blinking, because...yeah. That one was surprising. But he quickly fists his hands into Peter's jacket and hug back just as hard, closing his eyes. Without his uncle, he would probably have turned into a wreck of half-homicidal Omega after the Pack bond broke. Or something close enough. He owes the man more that he can ever repay.

He's so incredibly grateful, for everything. The explanations, the advices, the friendship...He would do anything for Peter, no questions asked. The words can't get past the knot in his troat, so he expresses his swell of affection the only way he can. He turns his head to bury his face into Peter's neck, nuzzling at the skin.

He feels Peter momentarly tense, but before Derek can even think about pulling away, Peter tilts his head to nose at Derek's temple in return. «James was a fool», Peter whispers, breath hot against his skin, «to ever let you go».

Derek lets out a questionning noise, rising his head a little. Peter takes his shoulders to put a bit of distance between them, so he can look Derek in the eyes. «One day», he says with an intensity that makes his nephew shiver, «you will be an incredible Second, far beyond anything David is capable of».

Derek can't suppress the blush rising in his cheeks at the incredible praise, even as he sutters an incredulous denial. «I'm not...don't be ridiculous, I'll never be able to...». Peter's hands come up to frame is face, fingers gently pressing his lips closed. «You will», he says, and the assurance in his tone make Derek go silent, eyes lost into Peter's. 

He doesn't know if his uncle is right. He doubts it actually. But the simple fact of knowing that _Peter_ , of all people, think him worthy of the title... it means more that any position in any Pack. «Thanks», he says, low, voice dangerously close to cracking. «Just...thank you». 

Peter grins and presses their foreheads together. «You're welcome, Derek».

∼

«Are you okay?»

Derek glances at Brian, who just murmured his question. «Sure». He shrugs, a bit perplexed. He's felling great. «I'm good, why?». Brian looks at him a bit warily. «You look like you're riding a fucking high since this morning, man». Derek stares.

«The fuck?» he finally hisses. «What the hell are you on about?». His best friend opens his mouth to say something when Derek feels the attention of the teacher focus on him. He lifts a hand under the table to signale the other teen to shut up, which Brian instantly does. They have this down a fucking art, now.

«Mr Hale», Harris begins, an ugly glint in his eye, «could you remind us what an anion is, since most of your comrades seem to have been stuck with brutal anmesia over the Summer break?». Derek didn't exactly revise last year lessons either, but that one is pretty simple.

«A negatively charged ion, sir. He has more electrons than protons, hence this negative charge». Harris surprised expression almost make Derek smiles, even through he knows the teacher is going to make him pay for it. And indeed, the second question isn't about basics anymore.

«Give me an exemple of zwitterion». Derek blinks. An exemple of what? «I don't know what that is, sir». He doubts anybody knows, actually. Such a strange name would have no doubt left quite the impression, after all.

«Oh, you don't?», the man hisses, sounding way too pleased with himself. «Well, you ignorants, learn that a...». but Derek will never learn what a zwit-something is, because he's back at staring at Brian the second Harris' back is turned. His best friend sighs.

«You're just...surprisingly cheerful». Derek lets his rised eyebrow speak for him, and Brian rolls his eyes. «Don't take it that way. I'm just not used to see you that open, that's all. Most of the time, you're rather closed off, but this morning you were grinning for all to see».

Derek considers that, a bit surprised. Was he? He didn't notice. Well, sure, he'd been in a good mood overall, thanks to his conversation with Peter in the car, and the fact none of the Pack members showed. Yet. Somehow, he doubts that's gonna last, especially considering that they're hitting the last hours of class.

But back to the subject at hand... «So I smile a bit, and your first explanation is that I'm high? I'm sorry to break it to you, but you do pot a lot more than me». And it's not like pot would actually do much of anything, even if he liked the stuff. 

Werewolf metabolism 101: most drugs' effects are severly diminished, so getting even a buzz with pot...He would have to smoke in chain for hours at length, and the high would be off over one hour. Maybe two, if the weed was potent enough. 

Same goes for alcool: he's not even sure if werewolves _can_ get drunk. Testing limits was fun when he was fifteen, but frankly, Derek doesn't even bother trying anymore. It saves money, if anything.

He shakes his head, getting rid of the tangent. «Anyway, for your information, I'm not high, or drunk, and I'm offended you'd think I need it to be in a good mood». The bell rings just in time to punctuate his last word, and Derek quickly gets up. 

He doesn't like Harris – nobody like Harris, _period_ – and he always tries not to linger in his presence. He isn't sure why he dislikes the guy so much. Except being an asshole, the teacher never did anything to Derek. 

But he just gets wary around him, his wolf rumbling warningly just under the surface. And if there's one thing every wolf knows, be it Alpha, Beta, Omega or even fucking rogue, it's to trust the instinct.

So Derek slips out of the classroom, not waiting on Brian. His friend knows of Derek's profound dislike of Harris, so he doesn't comment on it when he joins Derek in the corridor. And anyway, Derek also wanted to scan the area for any members of the Pack by going out first. 

He severly doubts they'd dare attack an humain, but still. He wants Brian out of any risk of harm, and with the tension running so high between them...Better be safe than sorry, as they say. But there's no trace of any of them around, not even in his hearing spectrum. _Good_.

«Hey», Brian says on their way to the gymnasium – they have climbing, last hours of the day. «We're okay, aren't we? I mean...I didn't hurt you with my comment right?». Derek turns to look at him, taken aback. Throwing out insults and teases is what they do, all the time. It's how they work, and none of them ever passed the line from joke to hurt yet. And certainly not today.

«Yeah, we're fine. No problem». He answers reassuringly, before letting his grin turn smug. «It was a shitty argument on your part, anyway, and I had last word on top of being right. So everything's great and how it should be». 

Brian scoffs. «I'm pretty sure you being right would lead the word to ruins rather than greatness». They enter the locker room, Derek still smirking as he opens his locker.They change quickly and head to the climbing wall. Since they got off from Harris so fast, they should be the first ones here.

 _Should_ being the operative word, because the second they enter the corridor that lead to the room, Derek freezes. _Shit_. He can smell David inside. What the fuck is he doing here? 

And Brian who's here, looking at him, surprise etched on his face at his friend sudden stop. «Hey, Derek? You're okay?». Derek swallows and grits his teeth together so hard he's pretty sure his brother can hear it from the other room.

«Sure», he answers with a smile. But Brian's no idiot, and he frowns. «You're sure?». Derek hesitates. He hates the idea to flee, but what if David tries to hurt Brian? On the other hand, he reasons, the lesson will start in maybe ten minutes. Surely, his brother doesn't intend to fight _here_?

Yet, from David, he could believe the stupidity. Thinking quickly, he says to Brian, «I'm fine, just...stomach-ache. I'm off to the bathroom, can you wait here five minutes?». As he said, Brian's no idiot, and his eyes narrow. «Derek,...», he begins warily, but Derek grabs his arm and hisses, low and urgent. «Brian, _please_ not now. I'll explain, just...later, ok?».

Brian looks at him, lips thin and jaw clenched, and Derek helds the stare, pleading silently. « _Fine_ », his friend finally bites out, shoulders tense. «But you _will_ explain this, Derek, I swear you will. After all the times I didn't comment, I think I deserve it».

«You do. Thanks», Derek agrees and then he's off, and he hopes Brian won't notice he didn't promise anything. One more train wreck to manage. Jesus. Can't he have just one thing that go well in his life right now? He suddenly understands a lot better why Peter prefers to wander than stay in Beacon Hills.

Ok. Damage control. He's becoming very good at that. And it's not the only thing he has become very good at, he thinks fiercly. He gets in the men's room, verifies nobody's here, and then he says out loud, piching his voice just enough to reach David but not filter out in the corridor. 

«Seriously? Putting yourself out here, in the open and wait for me? It may be impressive in films, but it's ridiculous on you. Did you think I wouId panic? I know perfectly well you won't dare anything with humans five minutes away». Yeah, he's beginning to learn to think on his feet and read between lines. To bluff, too. The last two months taught him a lot.

«I'm also perfectly aware you won't harm a hair on David's head. You have too much honor for that, after all. You're a Hale». Derek laughs at the irony, and doesn't do anything to muffle it. The more more furious with him David'll become, the easier he'll accept what he's going to propose. And he needs the other wolf to accept.

«So cut to the chase. You want me? I'll be in the gymnasium at 8:30 PM. Now, get lost». He waits, trying to be as relaxed as possible and breath slowly, even through his heartbeat seems to resonate at his hears, rabbit-quick and terribly loud.

He needs to appear as calm as possible, in control and sure of himself. He knows David heard him, but he can still refuse, and if he decide to provoke a riot here...Dereks not sure what he'll do.

But before he can decide to tear in the corridor and grab Brian to put him out of harm way, revelations be damned, David answers in a snarl, «8:30. And I hope for you you'll be here». And his scent gets weaker, proof that he's actually walking away. 

Derek closes his eyes, knees going weak with relief, and slides down the wall.

 _Fuck_. That was the most terrifying thing he ever did. He can fight to the bitter end, but that? Lies and bluff and manipulations? It's completely out of his league. Had David been less furious, the whole thing would probably have blown up in his face.

He lets his head fall against the wall with a thump and closes his eyes, the same question running in his head again and again.

_What the hell is he gonna do now?_


	18. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! And sorry for the lateness of this chapter!  
> But late author plus late beta equals postponed chapter. But still, El, dear, I owe you my biggest thanks for your work, considering how busy you are!
> 
> As for the rest of you readers...Enjoy!

Derek slips easily by the high window of the ceiling, silent as a shadow. Hanging by the sole strengh of his hands, he takes a long minute to survey the dark room before letting himself fall down. 

He noiselessly hits the ground in a steady crouch before straightening up, neon blue eyes shining, piercing the darkness with ease. 

No one, just as he throught. Not that it's surprising, since he just broke in the locker room. He's not enough of a fool to jump in the gymnasium without watching around first. Just to make sure he's not walking into a too numerous get together. Having the shit beaten out of him because his old Pack ganged up on him wouldn't do, after all.

He walks in the corridor without a sound, his luminous eyes the only clue of his presence. He stops half way and inhales deep. David's scent hits him first, instantantly followed by Laura's. Nothing startling here. 

He hadn't let himself believe for a second that the Alpha-to-be would actually sit this one out. The only thing Derek can hope for is that she won't try to join David in the fight, because two against one are bad odds. Well. That's what plan B is here for, he guesses.

He takes a second breath, but he can't smell anybody else. No Pack members, no teachers, no students. Apparently, they're very much alone. Good. He rolls his neck, pushing down the urge to fully shift for the moment, and enters the climbing room.

The first part of his siblings that he sees are their eyes, bloody red and savage yellow, glinting in the dark. And then, in a heartbeat, his own vision adapts to the much darker shades of the windowless room – or almost, there's only two skylights on the ceiling – and he can see David and Laura as if it was plain day. Or evening at last, since colors don't come through as very bright in wolf's vision. 

His older brother steps forward immediately, and his snarl echoes loudly in the high room. «You son of a...», David begins, and Derek forces his wolf down and still even through the other man is litteraly reeking of pent-up agressivity. Seeming too twitchy won't help anything. Derek doesn't honestly believe he can defuse the situation, but he has to at last try.

«David», he greets with a cool nod. While keeping his senses trained on him, he lets his eyes slip to the third occupant of the room. «Laura», he salutes just as impassively. Face drawn up with icy contempt, propped against a shelf about two meters away, the young woman doesn't deign answer. Isn't it starting well?

Derek takes a breath, ready to try and explain, when Laura actually steps forwards until she's shoulder to shoulder with David. Derek tenses but helds his ground, and asks calmly, «So that's it? You're going to attack me without giving me a chance to explain?».

Laura growls, fully wolfing out, and this time, Derek does step back, his own teeth and nails lengthening in a wordless warning. «Explain what? Why you terrified my sister so much that she has fucking nightmares?». Guilt well up in Derek's troat, choking any defense he could have. Shit, he didn't think it was that bad. She had been very afraid, yes, but to the point of devloping nightmares? It was...

And then Laura continues, and Derek's guilt is earsed by rage. «We warned her when she came back and asked about you that you had broken off and that you were dangerous, but...». For a second, he stays silent, listening to his sister's rant without reacting, too shocked. 

_They warned her...that..._ «What», Derek hisses savagely, abandoning any pretense of not shifting, «...the fuck? You tell her that I turned rogue, and then you come to me like you have any high ground to stand on? I may have surprised her, even frightened her, but she never was in any danger coming from me, which she would have known if you hadn't messed with her head!».

Laura opens her mouth to answer, eyes flashing a wild red, but before she can say anything, David lauches himself at Derek, who is so surprised by the suddeness of the move he barely has time to roll out of the way, earning a bloody gash on the shoulder. He catches himself in a defensive crouch, teeth bared, a contemptuous scowl twisting his lips.

«So that's how you fight? You jump in when people aren't waiting for it, to catch them unaware? My, my a Hale using a dirty trick? Didn't think you had it in you, brother». Derek slowly straighten, showing his teeth in an unpleasant smile. «But if you think you'll get me that way, you're going to be surprised...». _Because Peter is a cocky son of a bitch when he fights, and he plays nasty a lot better than you_ , he doesn't add.

Any throughts of settling the matter pacefully are gone. Too much is too much, and they crossed the line when they decided to figuratively knock him down when his back was turned. He was already hitting the end of the rope when the Pack was concerned, but that's it. Fuck them all, from Laura to Cora and passing by David and James.

Derek ducks under a savage slash from David, and without any warning, he suddenly stops dodging to slip forwards, animal-quick, getting in his brother space and clawing crosswise at his stomach before the other has a chance to react. 

David fall on his knees with a cry of pain and surprise, but Derek doesn't stop. When you want a werewolf out of the fight, you beat the shit out of them, no questions asked. So he pivots with all the speed he can muster, and his shin hits David on the face full-force. The breaking of bones can be heard all over the room.

David goes flying on the side, barely managing to roll with the hit. _Each his turn_ , Derek thinks savagely. It's Laura's intervention, more than anything, that allows him to stops. She catches him, putting a hand on his back to halt his uncontrolled slide on the wood floor. She takes one look at his face, and a terrible growl echoes off the gymnasium's walls.

Maybe Derek should feel alarmed, because for all he trained a lot with Peter recently, he doubts he can win aginst Laura of all people, but all he feels is adrenalin and anger and joy, because he's fucking out, out of this pityful and painful half-relationship with the Pack, where he was the only one to still try to mend things. 

And it feels amazing to let go of the affection he was trying to maintain alive so desperately, and to let rage and hurt take its place. Peter was right. The others are morons. They don't understand, and they never will because they don't want to. They're not even trying, so Derek doesn't see why he should do the effort.

Whatever the rules, whatever the Alpha's orders, they had no right. No right to treat him the way they did, to let him down and terrified and alone. None of them knew he would go to Peter. They simply took everything he had and knew, security and Pack alike, and threw him on the side without a second throught. 

Even when Laura came to him, she didn't do it for Derek, she did it for herself and her precious Pack. To try and convince him that Peter was the evil one. Well, they fucked up on that count. Derek shows his teeth and snarls, wild and enraged. 

Laura may be stronger than him, but her victory will cost her a higer price that she can even imagine, he swears it.

He's ready to attack her when he sees her eyes flicker over his shoulder. He jumps on the side, trusting the instinct, and David's claws forcefully slash the floor, leaving cracked concrete underneath. Derek internally swears. Of course. He should have throught about it: David is Second, so his abilities are leveled up, like Laura's. Not as much, but more than enough to give him a very good a healing factor.

For all the blood and still broken bones, he already has gotten rid of the – albeit rather mild – concussion. Derek scowls. Head injuries take generally longer to heal. He throught he would have more time than this to weaken Laura and reduce her strengh. Visibly, he miscalculated, which leaves him two against one.

He looks at the way David and Laura are regrouping, smiling victoriously already, and shrugs. He could use his Gift, and he knows they would be surprised enough that it would be easy to get rid of one of them. Punching through the lung would be too serious of an injury to be healed in less than at least five hours. Maybe three, with the Alpha and Second satuts.

He could, but...he doesn't have to, because he's not alone. It's not two against one. It's two against two. He smiles, too, cold and thin, and sees Laura frown, and then choke on nothing, eyes wide and alarmed. While still looking at his sister, Derek's smile widen when he feels Peter step out of the corridor and come to stand besides him.

For a second, the silence is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Then David steps forwards, and spats, «Coward!», the rage in his voice not quite enough to hide the fear. And Derek brusts out of laughing. «Coward?», he repeats with a sneer. 

«You're the one you were ready to attack me two against one a few seconds ago, and I'm the coward? I asked Peter to come because I wasn't stupid enough to risk being alone when half the Pack could have been here, but I was ready to fight loyaly, one on one. He was just back-up, in the case you decided to ligue together. Which you just did. _You_ are a coward. _I_ simply used my head».

Actually, when he had called Peter, it just had been for advice, but his uncle had insisted to be here. Derek had protested vehemently that he refused to act that way and trap David. Refused to act as a coward, as a matter of fact. Peter had answered rather frostily that going in alone based on the fact that Derek wouldn't act that way didn't meant his adversary would respect his code of honor.

Derek hadn't found much to answer that. It's not like he was fool enough to trust the Pack. He had weakly retorted he intended to slip by the locker room to overview the situation before going in. Peter had snorted, and...yeah. So he had yielded, at the one condition that Peter wouldn't intervene unless they actually tried to gang up on him.

And they did. Once more, his uncle was right, and Derek too gentle, or too naive, to see it coming. He shakes his head. He has no reason to be ashamed of calling Peter in. That how Pack works, always ready to stand by each other, no matter the cost. Peter came for him the same way he would come and fight for Peter if the need ever arose.

So he lifts his chin, and says with a nasty grin, «So, should we keep tearing into each other?». David opens his mouth but Laura grabs his shoulder and glares at him. «Don't be stupid», she warns. «He could beat us both with his hands tied behind his back», she murmurs with a jerk of her head towards Peter. «We lost».

David bares his teeth, and Laura visibly tighten her hold. «David, enough!», she snaps, eyes flaring red. The other wolf turns to her, out of instinct more than anything else, and Laura presses, «It would be stupid, we'd simply get the shit beaten out of us. So, _stop_. Use your head, for once!». 

David clenches his jaw, staring at his sister for a second before transfering the glare to Peter. The older wolf doesn't seem very impressed. Finally, David exhales, and the shift retreats, fading from his face slowly, almost reluctantly. Laura follows suit, less grudginly, even if the look she's shooting them is clearly furious.

She moves forwards, just a step, and says fiercely, staring Derek down, «You will leave her alone, you hear me? If you try to...». «Fuck you», Derek cuts her off calmly, almost aimably. «All of you. I'm done with your bullshit. Cora is the last of my worries».

A flash of surprise passes in Laura's eyes before they narrow, but David speaks, quicker than her. «Well, bite me...When did you grow a backbone, brother?». Derek is surprised a how much that _hurts_. Maybe because it's true: until he didn't have any choice but to use his Gift, he never spoke up, never argued about what really mattered. 

For all he felt sometimes lonely and isolated, he had never protested about it. He never had the courage to step up and say, _'I think you're not being fair'_. It took being thrown out and rejected to open his eyes, to make him understand how much the real word is different from what he imagined. He was an imbecile, a naive kid too proud of his werewolf abilities. 

Now...now, he's beggining to harden himself. But most of all, he's finally realising how much the Pack was tying him down. Maybe not on purpose – because he still refuses to stick the label of 'evil' on them that easily. They fucked up big time, and he's cutting his losses, but he didn't get out of his manicheen view of the word to fall into another.

So, point is, David isn't wrong. He did grow in himself. His self of two months ago probaby wouldn't recognise him. But Derek doesn't regret the change. He's more at ease in his own skin that he's even been. It's not perfect, no...but it's good. Better.

He grins at his brother, defy and mockery all in one. «What can I say? Being kicked out makes a guy rethink his worldview. Or whatever excuse is in vogue these days». He shrugs, trying to keep from snickering when he hears Peter's derisive snort behind him. 

«Anyways. I think we all agree you lost. Badly. So what about you leave, so we can all go back home?». Actually, Derek feels tired enough that he would gladly go himself, but when you win a fight, you have to hold your ground until the defeated party has gone. Privilege of the victor and all that shit.

David eyes flash yellow at the unsubtle reminder, but Laura is probably feeling just as tired –she did have to put up with David all day, after all. Derek almost pities her – because she nods tensly and grounds out from behind clenched teeth. «Very well. Come on, David». 

Her brother turns around, looking ready to argue, but whatever he sees on her face is enough to make him instantantly shut up. Which is to say, Laura's problably positively seething with rage and humilition, and Derek can't help the thrill of satisfaction of having finally beaten her, even if it was in a rondabout way. And if it makes him a bad person...well, too bad. Still, he refrains from commenting out loud; no need for more bad blood.

He waits until their scents have disappeared before he closes his eyes and lets out an exhausted sigh. Peter's here instantly, a warm hand pressed against his back. «You alright?». Derek forces his eyes open and smiles weakly to his uncle. «Sure», he says matter-of-factly. «It's just a slash, didn't even hit to the bone». 

Peter's eyes flicker down to his nephew's bloody shoulder, rapidly evaluating the level of damge. He must agree with Derek's assessement about its gravity, because he leaves it alone and looks up again, eyes intent. «I wasn't talking about your injury».

Derek sighs again ans racks a hand through his hair – the left, because the wound is not too serious, but his right shoulder still hurts like a bitch. «I know». He raises his eyes to Peter's worried ones.

«I'm okay. I mean, I'm feeling completly drained», he adds when Peter drawls an unimpressed eyebrow at his reassuring answer, «and I just...want to go home. But mostly, I'm...fine». He lets a thin smile slip on his lips. «Wasn't like there was much of a connection left to sever».

Peter looks at him for about a minute more, and he nods. «Let's go, then». He slips a careful arm around his shoulders, mindful of the injuried one, and steers Derek towards the fire exit. 

The young wolf briefly closes his eyes, taking a breath of Peter's scent and savouring the reassuring weight of the arm thrown over his shoulers. His uncle's hand tilts a little, just enough to press at the bare skin of his troat, and Derek smiles when the pain suddenly lessens.

Yeah. He's gonna be okay.

∼

«It wasn't a bad fight from your end, you know». Derek wants to ask about the unspoken 'but' at the end of the sntence, except that's when Peter jabs the antisceptic in the wound without any warning, and Derek's words turn into a hiss of pain.

«But», Peter continues without seeming to notice his nephew's indignant glare, «You've been injuried stupidly. That», and he pokes at the edge of the cut for emphasis, «shouldn't be here. I know you're better than that at dodging, so what happened?».

Derek throws one last withering look at his uncle – which is lost on him, since Peter's head is bent down and his attention focused on the gash. He huffs and retorts a bit reluctantly, «It took me by surprise; I never throught he would fight dirty. Hale's honor and all».

Peter rises his eyes at that. «Never think like this», he says calmly, but with this serious undercurrent that's always in his voice when he's speaking about something important. And as usual, this particular tone of voice draws Derek in. 

«Anybody, Alpha or rogue, can and will fight dirty if they think they need to in order to win. If they don't, then they're idiots. When you want to win – when you need to, if you' life is on the line – then _how_ you win doesn't matter, as long as _you_ are the one left standing».

Peter apparently decides that he proded enough at Derek's wound for the moment, because he puts the soaked cotton and tweezers on the side and grabs Derek's wrist, squeezing just enough to emphasis his next words.

«For people like us, Omega and Gifted, most fights are to the death, Derek. Almost anybody learning about what we are will hunt us down, hunters and werewolves alike. Our goal is survival, no matter the cost. And when this kind of situation arise, the question of how to fight, dirty or not, is not even raised. You win or you're dead, it's as simple as that».

Derek swallows, but holds his uncle's eyes when he slowly nods. The idea may sicken him just a bit, but it doesn't mean he disagrees. If somebody tried to take his life, or Peter's, he wouldn't have any claim to kill them first – or after - no matter who they were.

Peter smiles his approval, even as his grip relaxes to a soothing caress. «Good. We'll try to escape this kind of situation, of course», he adds a bit ruefully, «but just in case, I'd rather know you'd be ready».

And then, a frown comes up on his uncle face. «Which leads me to another question», he adds slowly. «When you got this kick in David's face, why didn't you keep going? Teleported yourself behind him and broke a few more bones in his back or legs? He wouldn't have gotten up that fast».

Derek grimaces. «I know, it was a mistake. Frankly, I forgot about the Second statut for a minute, and I really throught he would stay down for longer that than». He shakes his head. «It was stupid, I know. The adrenalin, I guess». 

Peter hums in wry agreement before asking more carefully, «What about using your Gift? You could have easily put one of them down and rebalanced the fight before they regrouped». 

Derek doesn't answer and turns his head away, shoulders tense, suddenly seeming very interested by the ranks of books at his left. Peter's eyes narrow. «Derek, look at me». Derek's jaw clenches, but he doesn't move. 

His uncle clicks his tongue desapprovingly before gently but firmly putting two fingers along Derek's jawbone to force him to meet his eyes. «Derek. Why?». Derek lets out a breath, still staring stubbornly somewhere over Peter's left shoulder. «I don't know, okay?». Silence is his only answer, and the young wolf resists the urge to rub his temples.

«Look, it's...it's just stupid, alright? It's just me being a moron, and it doesn't matter...». «It matters when you won't use one of you best weapons to get yourself out of harm way», Peter cuts him off harshly. «What if I hadn't been here? What would you have done, let them beat the shit out of you?». 

His uncle hands are flexing, his grip almost bruising on Derek's forearms, and it's what finally pushes Derek to talk. He doesn't want Peter to go around persuaded that his nephew has a death wish, or is unable to strike back. It's not that at all.

«I...When I teleport...», he swallows, trying to find the best way to make Peter understand. «It's...dangerous. For me, I mean». Peter frowns, and Derek instantly presses his fingers on his uncle lips. «No, you got me started, so let me finish. It's difficult enough to explain as it is». The man nods his acceptence and Derek lets go, smiling a bit in thanks.

«So...when I'm teleporting, it's like I become blind and deaf, suddenly. No, more than that, actually. All my perceptions and senses shut down. And when I rematerialise, I'm always tired and desoriented. I mean, I know where I'm meant to be, of course, but sometimes, for a second it's like I'm blacking out, and then everything goes back to normal, and it's like nothing happened».

Derek takes a breath. He got that far, so let's get it all out. «Except...just after I appear, there's this...lull, just a second, while anybody could gut me and I wouldn't be able to lift a finger to protect myself. And, well...». He smiles thinly. «...when you're a werewolf, a second is more than enough to do your fair share of damage».

Derek closes his eyes, feeling drained. «I like teleporting, I do. It tires me out, sure, but it feels amazing, you know? To know that I can be anywhere I want the minute I want it. But at the same time...at the same time, it terrifies me to be that helpless, even for barely a second». 

He opens his eyes to met Peter's, and chuckles ruefully. «I told you, it's so stupid». Derek would love to hear Peter tell him it's natural, that he has nothing to be ashamed off, but his uncle stays silent, and frankly, Derek doesn't blame him. 

It _is_ stupid. An irrational fear, or almost, because no matter how much self-control an oppenent can have, Derek disappearing on him and rematerialising in his back rarely enters in the possiblities the ennemy accounted for. 

The element of surprise is so strong that, Derek knows, he can put anybody down before they have regained their bearings back, even with a split-second gap in his actions. He knows that. But the fear remains, twisting in his gut each time he considers teleporting in a fight. 

Out of battle, there's not problem; he fucking thrives on it actually, a long as he doesn't push too far. But when fighting...

He sighs tiredly, and that seems to make Peter react. His uncle rises from his chair. «Come on. Bed». He extends a hand to his nephew, and Derek takes it instantly, because, you know, _bed_. He's going to crash, he's sure of it.

∼

 _Or not_ , he mentally corrects about fifteen minutes later. He gently rolls off Peter. He loathes losing the warmth of his uncle's body, but he fears the slightly elevated breath pattern of his awake state will wake Peter up. The man has missed enough nights because of Derek as it is.

He turns on his back and lets his eyes naturally adapt to the darker environnement, allowing him to notice even the slightest crack in the wood of the ceilling. Wonderful. They're all saved, now. He rolls his eyes and looks away to stare at Peter instead.

Which, he has to admit, is a lot nicer view. The man is handsome, after all – but again, Derek never met a wolf, man or woman, who wasn't. It's like it's hardwired in their genetic code, or something, because, while they are just as gangly and long-limbed as the other kids in their young years, once they hit puberty...well, you can say without any exageration that they all become quite gorgeous.

One of his faraway cousins had taken the Bite a few years ago, and, even through she hadn't been ugly to begin with, the change had made her go from a rather common beauty to a very, very beautiful woman. 

The change didn't turn you into anybody else – your face and bone stucture stayed the same- , but you body transformed and adjusted to become perfect in term of proportions, and any scar or imperfection disappeared, along with brighter eyes, hair and teeth. And it was more than enough to make an impression in terms of good looks.

But with Peter...it's more than that. Sure, he _is_ gorgeous. 

But there's something else; his ease, his assurance, maybe. Peter does what he wants, always. He obeys to nobody, and is loyal only to whose he wants. He has no Pack, but far from crippling him, it makes something in him stay wild and dangerous. 

It shows, sometimes. In his eyes, when his gentleness and warmth slip away long enough to reveal the iron core beneath, or in the way he loves to spar hard and fast, to the point of blood. In his cold ruthlessness, too.

And this savage spark tugs at Derek, makes him answer in kind when they fight, blood for blood, hit for hit, makes him bare his teeth and lift his chin. More than anything, that's what gives him the courage to be Omega and Gifted, and still want to defy anybody who think there's something wrong with him.

Peter, he muses, is, more than anything, charismatic. Not in the charming, smiling style – well, he can be that, too, when he puts his mind to it – but, more generally, he's magnetic in a dangerous, untamed kind of way. 

You know there's something different when you see him. Some reject him based on it, out of incomprehension or fear. But Derek? Derek may be a bit afraid sometimes, but mostly he's attracted to Peter like a fucking magnet who found its north.

And, he thinks drowsily as sleep finally claims him, he wouldn't have it any other way.


	19. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! And happy New Year, everyone!
> 
> So, I'm late. I know. Sorry. But exams being what they are, my holidays weren't exactly full of free time. But, here is -finally - chapter 18 (and by the way you can totally thank El for pushing me to write at every opportunity). I own you one, dear.
> 
> Good read!

«Really?». Derek lets his flat tone convey his doubt while he looks upon the small clearing in front of him. There a few rocky rises in it, but on the whole, it's just solid ground covered by grass. Half a step behind him, Peter lets out an amused huff. «You're the one who told me he wanted to spar this morning», he remarks. «I don't see what's wrong with the place». 

«In itself? Nothing», Derek acknowledges. «But I hardly see why you insisted for our...relocalisation. The other clearing was just as great, and a lot less far away». Peter's smiles turns downright wicked, and Derek begins to wonder if he shouldn't have listened to his instinct this morning and run in the other direction.

«There's less trees in this one», is the silibine answer. Derek looks at Peter, hard, but except for his malicious eyes, his uncle's face gives nothing away. The youg wolf rolls his eyes. «Okay, I'll bite. Why the fuck should I care about the number of trees standing around?».

Peter steps away, putting a good fifteen meters between them, and then he retorts, without even trying to hold his crazy grin in anymore. «I would feel bad if you faceplanted in one because of a misstep». Derek stares for a minute before even thinking of feeling insulted. 

«I know you kick my ass anyday of the week», he finally hisses back icily, stung by his uncle words. «But as true as that may be, I'm not so bad that I'd faceplant into fucking trees, thank you very much!». He's drawing back already, stepping away, intent on leaving to nurse his stupidly hurt feelings. 

And it is stupid, because it's not like Peter ever minced his words when he criticized his fighting thechnique, and Derek genereally took it rather well. You don't become better if you can't take a few painful truths and get over it. But that...

That hit, hard, because when Peter corrects him, it's to make him change something – a stance, a point of equilibrum, his guard...His uncle is giving him pointers, yeah, but he always acknowledges Derek's abilities, too. 

But that last comment made it sound like Peter expected Derek to trip and fall and miss his hits, the same way a newborn wolf would. It denies everything they've done until know, and Derek feels his troat constrict almost painfully. Did his confession about his fear of his Gift change _that_ much? Does Peter think less of him because of it?

The throught hurts, more than Derek ever would have imagined. He takes another step back, opening his mouth on a spiteful parting shoot, because he refuses to show how painful it was. Better show rage and anger and hurt the others right back rather than let weaknesses surface.

But before he can shape the words – something ugly, awful and unfair, along the lines of «I may be a shitty fighter but a least _I_ never let anybody die under my eyes» - Peter is here, barring his way, hands held in a placating manner.

«My apologies», he says, and the smooth tone would rile Derek up even further if the young wolf couldn't see the sincerity in his uncle's eyes. «I didn't mean it that way at all. I swear, Derek. I meant no direspect. I may beat you each time we fight, but it doesn't mean I admire you any less for it. Quite the contrary, actually».

Derek fidgets just a bit, because Peter looks honest enough, but he's very close and Derek is angry, and he can't think at all. So he goes for the obvious, «So what did you mean?», his voice tense, because he's still half-ready to lash out to protect himself.

Peter's shoulders loosen, and Derek realises that his uncle expected him to storm away without listening, or something close enough. 

And, yeah, sure, Derek has a stubborn streak a mile wide, and he's not the easiest person to disscuss with – he supposes he had to inherit _something_ from his Father, after all – but all the same, he never turned his back on Peter and he never will. His uncle should know that by know, shouldn't he?

«All I meant was that, for the kind of training I had in mind, it would be better to start on plain ground, without any obstacles», Peter continues calmly. Derek frowns, a part of his anger lost to reflexion.

«The kind of training?», he repeats slowly, intrigued despite himself. «What are you talking ab...?». And then he falls silent, because it suddenly all clicks together. The way Peter had walked away earlier, putting himself too far for hand-to-hand sparring. His words, too... _It would be better to start on plain ground_ , he'd said. _Start_ implying it was something they hadn't done before.

It all link to their conversation last evening, and just like that, Derek knows exactly what Peter wants to do. «No», he says emphatically, crossing his arms. And no, it's not overkill, because he knows Peter, and the man is just as obstinate as him – maybe even more.

As if to confirm this throught, Peter steps forwards, jaw and shouled tense anew. «Yes», he counters, almost savagely. «Did you really throught I would let you be afraid of your Gift and not do anything about it?».

«Yes!», Derek retorts just as wildy, eyes turning a bit too blue just for a second. «Dammit, would you just leave it alone? Why do you even care?».

Peter growls, showing too long teeth, right in his nephew's face. «How can you even ask? Of course I care. You're all I have left!». Before Derek can even process that – before he can notice how much it reflects his exact feelings – Peter slips a hand behind his neck and presses their foreheads together.

«I'm Omega, Derek. I have very few I would call friends, and even among those, there is none I care about more than I do you. _No one_ ». His hand thighten briefly on the younger wolf's nape, almost convulsively. «I would see you protected, no matter what. And it includes you knowing how to use your Gift».

Peter rears back just a little, enough to meet Derek's eyes, but he doesn't relax his grip. «I will teach you this, even if it's the last thing I do before you tell me to leave you alone. But you _will_ know how to defend yourself. Nothing will make me relent on this».

Derek steps back, torn between fierce rage – Peter has _no right_ to force him to do anything, who the _fuck_ does he think he is? If Derek is Omega, then he doesn't owe any obediance to _anyone_ – fear, and, frusratingly, understanding.

Because Peter is all Derek has left, too. He is the person Derek cares the most about, and, if forced to choose...Derek would protect him at all costs, even if he knew Peter wouldn't forgive him for it. So, he gets it. Perfectly.

And besisdes...they're on the same boat, now. They're Pack, as much as you can be when you don't have an Alpha. And it means that anybody who attacks Peter will have to count Derek in the fight, and vice-versa.

But thing is, Derek isn't strong enough. He knows he's not useless, but he's not powerful enough to protect anybody, least of all Peter. At this point, Derek is, objectively, more of a burden than anything else. Peter would defy anybody to help him, he proved it less than twenty-four hours ago.

And Derek...Derek would let fear keep him from doing the same? From gaining power, the power to protect what he cherishes? He saved John, barely, by chance more than skill. Chance is not enough when Peter is concerned.

His Gift put him apart. But Peter is right: if Derek harness it, it can become his most powerful weapon. It can become his mean to stand up besides his uncle, rather than be under his protection. 

In the natural hierarchy of a Pack, the elders protects the youngers.

But they are Omegas. Rules of Pack doesn't apply; and Derek wants to be Peter equal, not in siprit – because he knows he is already – but in terms of strengh. He's not a fighter. He knows that. He'll probably never attain his uncle's level in hand-to-hand fighting.

But he can reach it by another way, if he has the courage to do so. He nods slowly, letting his hand drift up until his palm is flat on Peter's chest, just over his heart. He takes a deep breath, taking comfort in the steady beat. 

«Okay», he says breathlessly, adrenalin flowing in, muscles alredy tensing. «Let's do this».

∼

So, just so you know, this isn't Mrs Ayres' fault. The woman's lesson is quite interesting, actually, and Derek likes Greek. Especially when they speak of the old civilisation's traditions, like today.

But, as interested in the subject he may be, Derek is also hurting. Rather badly. Or, more specifically, he's so stiff that he can't manage to find a position on his chair that doesn't hurt. Christ, it was the first and the last time that Derek let Peter train him in teleportation on a class day. 

He had been doing okay on the morning – he was feeling pleasantly warmed up, actually. After lunch, the first aches had begun, but he hadn't paid it much attention. Walking around and staying on the move had been enough of a strech. But now, stuck in a chair...

He shifts carefully, trying to relax the horrible, painful tension in his back, and looks at his watch. Still half an hour to go. God. He moves again, restless, and rolls his neck. It's like for every second he stays still, a new ache appears.

Peter is so fucking dead, Derek swears. He's going to...An unknow scent suddenly hits his nose, drawing him out of his very imaginative and vivid reflexions about his incoming vengeance on the person of his uncle.

The click of heels and the parfume would be dead giveaways of the newcomer's sex, even if Derek hadn't alredy recognised a woman's scent in the first seconds. He can also tell that whoever-she-is is perfectly calm and sure of herself – her heartbeat is steady, and doesn't flip even a little in doubt when she knocks on the door.

And when Mrs Ayres goes open the door, Derek can see another reason for the woman self-confidence. She's fucking gorgeous, and considering the assurance – the arrogance, even – in her whole demanor, she knows it. Derek can't help but smile. When it's not too much, he can't deny he loves this kind-of-too-much-pride.

Eveybody he hangs out with is like this, at least to an extent: Peter, Brian...Cockiness and self-assurance flowing around you like an aura. Derek knows he's exactly the same. And why not? 

Timidity he can accept, even if it's not his thing...but false modesty is just that: false, pale, without any interest. But what he's looking at has nothing to do with false modesty. The woman is hot, confident and she owns it without apologies.

His eyes narrow. Too bad she's a teacher. He would certainly have been rather interested, if only for a short time – because a relationship where you lie all around about what you are never lasts long. 

He got used to it: either the other party ends it because Derek isn't giving them enough attention or stay too much on his reserve, either he breaks it up because he tires of lying about everything. Either way, it generates painful, useless discussions - and sometimes resentment – so Derek learned to do with causal sex more than anything else.

Sometimes he wonders how it would feel to be with another wolf, to be able to be himself. To speak freely of his joy of running in the forest when the leaves are damp with rain, relishing in their scent, and to be understood. To go hunting with someone, taking down pray together after a wild chase.

To let go in bed; to be free to wolf out in the middle of sex, to let teeth turn into playful fangs, to know that he can squeeze and grip his lover hard, and that she - or he, if he likes them enough, why not? - can take it, that he won't hurt them in any way. That they will mark him as much as he, them, and that both parties will love it.

With a sigh, he chases the throughts away. He never found a wolf he liked enough, in either sex. His species are pompous arses more often that not. And he himself is taciturn enough that he's not very inviting at first glance. Not that he cares overmuch.

«...Hale». The sound of his name snaps Derek out of his wandering reflexions, and he focuses his hearing on the low conversation before the two women. «...wait the end of the lesson?», Mrs Ayres asks, and the other shakes her head with an apologetic smile.

«I'm sorry, but this is the only date and hour I have been given. I thought it would mean that all the students would be out of class, but...well, obviously not. And I can't very well have a reunion of the swim team without my best swimmer, can't I?». Derek forces himself to keep an unreadable face, even through he's surprised. Reunion?

The woman cocks her head to the side, looking Mrs Ayres in the eyes, and the teacher holds her ground for a total of three second before she relents. «Very well», she surrenders. «But I hope this won't become an habit, Mrs Grayson».

Mrs Grayson smiles again graciously, but there's such a mocking, disdainful edge to it that it even impregnates her scent. Derek frowns. Mrs Ayres isn't the brightest bulb in the box, but she's nice, understanding, and there's not one single mean bone in her body.

And she's passionate about her subject, loves what she does and what she speaks about with an enthusiasm that forces respect. She doesn't deserve Mrs Grayson barely veiled contempt. The woman just passed the line between self-assured and conceited, and Derek doesn't appreciate it. It reminds him of James. Or David. Or about anybody in the Pack, really.

But again, he doesn't know the woman, he muses. Hasty judement is what he reproched to his old Pack more than once. Up to him to not fall into the same trait. _Give it time_ , he tells himself. She's his new swim coach, apparently, so he'll have time to decide if he appreciates her or not.

«Mr Hale?», Mrs Ayres calls, and he rises, affecting a surprised air. «Yes?». «I believe that you have a reunion for your sport class. I would have appreciated if you had warned me in advance». Derek blinks, opens his mouth to say he wasn't aware of any reunion, when Mrs Gryson winks at him from over his teacher's shoulder.

«I...forgot», he lies quickly. «My apologies». Mrs Ayres sighs, but a slightly amused smile froms at the corner of her mouth. «It's alright, Mr Hale. It happens to the best of us. I trust one of your comrades will give you the homework?». 

Derek half turns to meet Sarah Mason's gaze, and she nods. Thier partnership for the biology file last year had left them...not friends, but good acquaintances. It's not the first time they help each other out about missed lessons. Fine writing and clear notes always make the catching up easier.

Derek turns back to his teacher. «It won't be a problem», he assures, and she nods, visibly pleased. «Very well. Then you may go». Derek quickly gathers his bag, throws his jacket on, and slips out of the class room after Mrs Grayson.

They walk in silence until they have reached corridor's end, and then the teacher turns to Derek with an grin. «Well, I call that an extraction went well, don't you think, Mr Hale?». Derek blinks, and says, «I...guess», all the while trying to _no_ t ogle at the woman jean-clad legs and ass. 

_She's a teacher_ , murmurs a little voice inside his head. _And you don't know her_. That gives Derek pauses. Oh, not the first part. It's not like he would give much of a shit about this kind of things. It's just human labels. But his second reflexion...well, that one's true. He doesn't know her in the slightest. She's hot, and what? Even the worse psychopath can be hot.

He swallows. He doesn't exactly know where the consideration comes from. It's not like him to be that careful, especially about something as minor as a new hot teacher. It would be just fun. She's interested, he can smell it on her. So...harmless fun, and that's all.

Except...except he's not sure he wants that. The complications of the teacher's status, forcing himself to lie. It's unpleasant at any given time, but he's been living with Peter for almost three months, now, and his uncle is a lot more laid back about wolfing out than his parents ever were.

Peter doesn't have any problems with growls and mock-fights -or fights in themselves - even in the house. He lets his eyes flash blue just to mark playfulness, lets his claws grow rather often...In a word, he never tries to pass as human, not in Derek's compagny.

At first, it had been rather confusing, especially after his Father's more strict brand of discipline – _no wolfing out in the house, of any kind, no use of hightened senses, always restrain yourselves even in a spar..._ and the list goes on. 

Peter had laughed when Derek had first spoken of it, but upon seeing how serious his nephew was, he'd sat him down and explained that having control was important, of course, but that he disagreed with James about what that control should mean. For him, Peter had explained, true control wasn't in the act of chaining the wolf down inside you, but at the contrary, in letting it out, and always being able to reign it in at moment notice.

But never, never to drown it down into the human part of oneself.

And after a brief period of adaptation, Derek had found his footing – like in many things about Peter as a matter of fact. Now, he doesn't have any claims about being half wolfed out in the house, or using his enhanced senses even for the most mundane of reasons. 

And he loves it, loves how natural it feels, how good, the same way it's such a relief to step out of too tight clothes and shoes. It's like he can fully breathe for the first time in years. He doesn't want to go back to playing normal, always careful and always gentle. He's not human. Not totally, at last. Nor he wants to be.

And a relationship, no matter how fickle, implies an intimacy that will force him to watch every step, every move he makes. _Not too fast, slow your reflexes on purpose, control your strength, run only three hours each morning because more would draw attention... _And he knows how to do it. His control is excellent, no questions about it. But no. Just...no. He doesn't want that.__

__And besides, he doesn't feel like it, really. Since he moved in with Peter, he doesn't have any urge to find anybody else or to have a lover. He's perfectly content with his uncle around, their interactions easy and warm._ _

__He still finding his equilibrum back after the chaos of the last two months. For a while, he just wants as much calm and tranquillity as he can gather._ _

__So, no complicated, dangerous fucking around with teachers. Not that it keeps Brian from hissing to him, «Dude, you so need to tap that», the second Derek silds down in his chair besides him. Derek simply shrugs without ansewring._ _

__Mrs Grayson may be tall, blonde and snarky – in short, just his type – in the end Derek isn't that interested._ _


	20. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Here we go with chapter 19 (betaed version)!  
> Good read!

The door slams shut behind Peter, and Derek makes a very conscious effort to _not_ smash the table to smitheerens. _It won't help anything_ , he tells himself firmly. _You need to calm down, the both of you, and..._

Peter's parting shot resonates in his head at this exact moment, crumbling all of Derek resolve of control. _I suppose it was too much to ask from you to see them for what they really are. Looks like you are your father's son, after all_ . The wood breaks with an ominous crack, and for all the splinters percing his palms, Derek actually feels better for a moment.

A short-lived moment, sadly. Once the brief euphoria of taking out his anger on something has passed, the reality of the situation comes crashing back in. Peter and him just had one hell of a row, and it's Derek's fault. Mostly. 

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. Most of the blame may lie at his feet – it's not like he didn't know of his uncle would react - but frankly, did Peter have to close off that way the second Derek mentioned the Pack? He wasn't proposing to throw a fucking reunion party, dammit, just to gather information!

For a second, Derek considers staying here and waiting for his uncle's return. He hates the idea of them arguing, of them apart. But...he meant what he said. He is right, he knows it. And he will stand his ground. He has no reason to try to make amends; he did nothing wrong. 

If anything, he mentally corrects fiercely, feeling his anger rise anew, its Peter who owes him an apology for his hurtful words. If the man gets to slam the door on his way out like he's the offended one, suits him. Derek doesn't give a shit.

He steps backs form the remains of the table, closes his eyes, and teleports away without a backwards glance.

∼

Derek passes the corner of the street and considers the parking. Almost full, as expected. Saturday night fever indeed. The line for the entrance extends almost on the whole lenght of the sidewalk. At first glance, Derek'd say about three quarters of an hour to wait.

He whistles between his teeth, exasperated. He's not in the mood to freeze his ass off for even ten minutes, not to mention three quarters of an hour. For the first the first time in two days, a wicked smile tugs at his lips. 

Fuck waiting. He can bypass all of this easily enough, and he's sufficently pissed off to actually do it. Tonight is about unwinding, about having his way. For once, he's going to put himself in first. He steps back in the alley, until he's shrouded once more in the deep shadows. He takes a breath, pushes...

...and finds himself in the dark corner just besides the men room. He closes his eyes a second, exhales, and regules his hearing so the music doesn't blow his tympans off. And then he pushes off the wall, straighten and steps in the light.

It's 2 AM, so the dancefloor is already crowded. He sidesteps it for the moment and slips to the bar. Where a line is already formed. Of course. Karma's a bitch, after all. Derek rolls his eyes but prepares to wait. He doesn't see how he could escape this one.

Except the barmaid's eyes suddenly snaps to him, and just like this, he leaves every client behind and comes to stand in front of Derek with a grin. «What will it be?». Derek frowns. He knows he's rather gorgeous when it comes to looks, but...His eyes narrow.

«White russian. Chantilly instead of milk», he answers nontheless, because he's not stupid enough to let the chance pass. The guy nods agreeably, and Derek can't help a smile. Most of the time, he gets a bitch glare for asking for something more complicated than a vodka-orange.

He ignores the number of guys and girls giving him the stink-eye, and drums his fingers idly on the bar while waiting for his drink. Which, again, arrives suspiciously fast. The barman shakes his head when Derek moves to pay. «On the house», he says with a very familar wink, and this time, Derek laughs.

He throws a «Thanks, man», for apparences' sake, before he turns away, only to meet Peter's knowing smirk from across the room. His uncle rises his drink in toast, and Derek shakes his head but still picks his way through the crowd to him.

«What that really necessary?». He tries to sound stern and desapproving, but he's pretty sure it comes out more amused than anything else. Peter shrugs. «He won't remember a thing. And you, nephew, are not really in the position to comment, aren't you? Or should we discuss your little slip-in?». 

Derek huffs a laugh. «Okay, okay. Guess the free drink is worth my silence». He takes a sip, and continues, «So I suppose you...felt me? When I teleported in?». Peter chuckles. «It was hard to miss. You exude magic like an overflowing river each time you use your Gift». 

The amusement fades from his uncle face, turning to a more speculative expression. «Which, now that I'm thinking about it, may very well be the reason for your blanks upon rematerialising». Peter looks in his own drink with a frown, like the swirling liquid has the answer to his last hypothesis. 

Or maybe like he's trying to find a way to adress the elephant in the room. Derek's lips thin. He's good, he's having fun, and he doesn't want the night to turn into another argument. They haven't spoken for two days, and Derek doesn't want the meeting to turn sour.They'll have the time to fight over the issue next morning. 

So he reaches out to tug at Peter's glass, and his uncle reliquishes it willingly enough. Derek takes a curious sniff. He tried a certain number of cocktails, but he doesn't know this one. Except that it's tequila-based, with a touch of rhum, he can't say much. The smell of alcohol is too strong. He takes a careful mouthful.

And promptly winces. «Fuck, what's in this thing?». Peter laughs. «Acapulco gold», he retorts, taking his drink back. «Tequila, rhum, coconut liquor, lemon and ananas juice. Rather strong». Derek licks his lips and take a sip from his own glass to get rid of the taste. 

Peter draws an amused eyebrow. «Too alcoholised for you?». Derek glowers just a bit before shruging. «I like my cocktails sugared, not tasting like a weird mix of potent alcohols thrown together». Peter laughs again and Derek dugs a vengeful elbow in his ribs in retaliation, not that it seems to have much effect.

They stay like this for a moment, sipping their respective drinks in compagnable silence, before Derek gathers his courage, and says, still a bit reluctant to broach the subject, «I don't want us to fight tonight, but I just wanted to say...I'm sorry for the table». It may sound incredibly silly, but it's true. Taking his rage out on Peter's furniture has been nothing but childish and bitter. It deserves apologies, at the very last.

Peter pauses with his glass halfway to his mouth, and lowers it slowly. «Nevermind the table. It was rather understandable considering what I said», he says with a sigh. «I'm sorry. No matter the argument, it was a line I shouldn't have crossed». Derek doesn't comment on this, because Peter's right. It had hurt.

«Well...», he says, a bit awkwardly. «It's not that bad. Apology accepted and all». Peter smiles, looking relieved. He reach out slowly, giving Derek all the time to dodge or bat his uncle's hand away. He doesn't, and Peter's hans slips around his neck to press their foreheads together in what is becoming a familiar gesture.

«Thank you». Peter steps back, and his grin turns smug when he adds, «I agree with your idea of a truce for tonight. What about we simply go have fun?». He tilts his head towards the dancefloor, and Derek grins in answer.

He throws back the rest of his cocktail, and follows Peter in the crowd.

∼

Derek wakes up with his face burrowed in Peter's neck, and using the rest of his uncle's body as a living matress. Which should freak him out, but instead feels amazing. He missed Peter these last days, so much. To the point that it's probably unhealthly. 

But Derek doesn't care, not really, not when Peter is warm and relaxed under him, one hand tracing lazily, sleepily up and down his arm. Derek's feeling deliciously boneless – he's really starting to understand his old packmates' 'always all over each other' policy. 

But.

But there's still their argument to clear up. He really mishandled the situation back then, saying he would go on his own if he didn't have Peter's agreement. No wonder his uncle blown a fuse, even if it was an empty threat. 

He doesn't intend to break his word – to meet any members of the Pack alone, and he regrets bringing it up at the time. It had been a low blow. But after all, he only sweared he would speak to his uncle about any meeting, not that he wouldn't go. 

But then, that was before the tomb. And the gym. He's not sure he could see Laura - or worse James - and not attack them, verbally or otherwise. 

But whatever, his latent hostility is not the point, here. No, the point is a bit more...thorny to bring up, because Derek's certain Peter won't like it. And he loathes to risk to head towards an another argument when they're so at ease lying here. But hey, the man wanted him to speak his mind, didn't he?

«Peter?», he calls, voice low. The movement on his skin has stopped, and he's not sure his uncle isn't asleep, or at last napping. And if that's the case, he doesn't want to disturb him. After all, they can have this conversation later. He's not sure why he mustered the courage now of all times. 

Maybe because he feels more in tune with his uncle than ever, more calm and sure of their relation. It was painful, but after their quarrel, he knows better how much he can push. He's reassured that Peter won't take badly to Derek questionning his jugement. 

Or at last, not so badly that he won't let his nephew explain himself. All he can hope is that it won't degenerate. Again.

Anyway, any second-guessing is rendred null and void when Peter answers, an idle «Yes?», that sounds so relaxed that Derek grimaces, feeling a sense of guilt creeping on him. Christ, he knows how to choose his moments, doesn't he?

«I wanted to...I suppose we need to talk, don't we?». Derek sighs. That was vague, at best. He can feel his resolve steadily weakening. But he broached the subject, so this is not the moment to lose his wit. «It's about my threat of the other night», he precises before he has the chance to chicken out.

He senses Peter tensing, body suddenly going rigid. «And I won't go through with it. I won't break my word, I swear», he assures hurriedly. Without thinking, he puts a hand flat down on Peter's chest – not to try to pin him down (he's not suicidal, thanks, and he wouldn't be able to anyway), but to silently ask for the time to develop his throughts. And maybe to reassure Peter that he's not trying to start a fight.

The contact seems to appease his uncle slightly, and he turns his head to look at Derek, his face a mix of wariness and curiosity. «I'm listening». Derek nods his thanks, and then bites his lip, trying to decide by which end he's going to take this. Without him noticing, his fingers begin a pensive drum on Peter's skin.

«Okay», he starts cautiously. «Do you remember when you said the Hale Pack was, I quote, _blind , narrow-minded, and stupid_ \- end quote - to base off their judgement of all Gifted only on you and the rogues that killed the Juris? That it wasn't fair?». Peter inclines his head in admission – not that he looks like he regrets his words at all. And it's not like Derek's going to protest to them either.It's true, after all. 

No, it's something else he has a problem with. «Okay, good». And because he wants to be clear about what he thinks of it, he adds, «I totally agree, by the way». Peter rises a very unimpressed eyebrow. «And yet», he replies, «you believe you have a convinving argument in thier favor. No need to beat around the bush. Out with it».

Derek hesitates, then mentally shrugs. This is not how he pictured this going but...Why not? You only can run so much circles around your subject before it becomes ridiculous. And besides, isn't that the true meaning of trusting someone? That you know you can tell them what you think, no matter what? That you need to, because you have too much respect for them to let it pass unchallenged?

Alright, then. «This hasty judgement that you grudge them for...You know, the fact that they based their opinion over one single act and neglected the rest?». Derek takes a deep breath. «I think you're doing exactly the same about them».

For a second, the silence seems so loud that's it's deafening. And then, Peter snarls, roughly dislodges Derek and sits up abruptly on the side of the bed. Derek racks a hand through his hair. Shit. He knew this wouldn't be well recieved.

The fact that he didn't get to finish his argumentation doesn't matter. Peter's smart enough to have filled the holes by himself. _When you say they could hurt us, hunt us, you too, are judging them over one act – one mistake – made a long time ago. It's not because they were hurtful morons back then that they're liars today._

Okay. Damage control. «Look, I'm not saying to trust them and forgive, okay? Not at all. But...you can't blow the possibility off just because you don't like the source. It's too serious, too much of a threat».

Derek forces himself to continue, even if he has the impression that he's destroying everything they have built with each word that gets out of his mouth. « It's...». But Peter's glacial words cut across his. 

«You seem to forget a little too quickly that they killed Gifted without hesitation. They threw you out without hesitation». And Derek flinches, hard, but he refuses to back down. «You don't understand. I'm not advocating for them, here». Peter snorts. 

«I'm not, dammit! Do you think I would? After seeing you almost break down, after the tomb, after...after the way they treated me? I'm not asking you for forgiveness, and don't think I ever will. I'm asking you for understanding». 

Peter's back his still just as straight, his whole posture closed off, and Derek grits his teeth. He doesn't have any idea how he dares to grab his uncle's shoulder to force him to turn. «Would you fucking listen, for heaven's sake? I'm not doing this for them, you idiot, I'm doing it for you! If they told the truth, if the Argents are really back in town...».

«They don't have any reason to share information with us, least of all _truthful_ intel», Peter hisses back furiously, shurging Derek's hand off. «I will not throw myself in the lion's den for a _lie_!». Derek rubs his temples, suddenly feeling horribly tired.

«We've spoken about that», he remarks, more curtly than intended. «Even if it _is_ a lie, we should at least verify. Hunters, Argent most of all, are bad news all around, no matter your alleigance – or lack of it. We...». «I already agreed about that», Peter cuts him off just as sharply. «But I still don't see why we would need any of the Pack».

«Because we don't even know where their info comes from, and even if we did...there's every chance that whoever provided it will refuse to help us. Deaton is James' emissary, so he won't talk to us, and if it's another Pack...». Derek shakes his head ruefully. «Well, let's not go there». 

Peter snorts his agreement about that, at least, and Derek sees a small part of his uncle's rigidity slip away. It gives him the courage to get a bit closer and to continue. «You told me yourself that we are practically blind in this town». Derek slips closer still, until he can press a hand on Peter's back, all warm skin and tense muscles.

«We need to know», he murmurs. «And I don't see any other way than go to this meeting and listening to what they have to say. Laura made the effort of actually coming to me. Do you think they would go to such lengths just to try and catch us? Or kill us?».

Peter laughs, but it rings hollow. «You'd be surprised at what kind of lengths some Packs are ready to go to in order to put Gifted wolves down». He lets out a sigh before suddenly swinging back on the bed and settling down crosslegged across Derek.

«Let's say you are right, and the Argents are indeed back in town», he admits, lips thining at the possibility. «It still doesn't answer the question of why James would bother to warn us, and, more importantly, why he would suddenly invite us at a Pack gathering». 

Derek shrugs. That's the question, isn't it? And frankly, he doesn't have an answer. «Dunno. Maybe he hopes the Hunters will target us first if he draws us out?». Peter emits a negative sound, looking throughtful. «No. If that was the goal, then he'd be better off contacting the hunters behind our backs.».

Derek shakes his head. «Then...». He thinks for a minute, but nothing comes. He briefly envisages guilt, before rejecting it with a huff. Yeah, as if. «I don't know», he finally admits with a weary sigh, very conscious that the admission isn't working in his favor right now. «But I still believe...».

Peter helds up a hand, looking just as fed up with the argument as Derek is, and the young man falls silent rather gratefully. «Enough», his uncle says gently. «We been at this for half an hour and all we're doing is driving each other to the wall».

Derek can't help an derisive snort. Way of stating the obvious...And yet. Yet it's painfully true. It seems that on this, at least, they're not only of diverging opinions, but they also seem to have reached a stalemate.

It's rare – not the stalemate, that's a first, but the fact that they argued at all. Most of the time, they go along swimmingly. Even back when they barely knew the other, they had taken to each other like fire and gasoline. They're of similar minds, Peter and Derek; they think alike on many points, and the similarity in their situations only helped to link them more tightly. But sometimes – only about the Pack, really – they disagree. Fiercely, as proved just now. 

Derek lets out a exasperated sound. He's still not convinced by Peter's vision of the situation, but...if hunters are really back in town, then the worst they can do is to let this quarrel drive them apart. And besides...when the end comes, Derek trusts Peter above all else. «Do you really think we should refuse to go?», he asks, one last time.

His uncle probably hears the definitive note in his voice, and his eyes narrow. «If I say yes, will I again find you gone at three in the morning?», he retorts, and Derek would be offended if Peter hadn't a very good reason to be suspicious. So he casts his indignation aside and answers firmly, holding the older man eyes. «No. You have my word».

Peter draws an slightly disbelieving eyebrow, and Derek rolls his eyes, but nonetheless continues, «I'm still not sure this is the best option», he asserts calmly. «And I'm not afraid to call you on it if I think you're wrong. But we need to decide something, and...in the end, you've been fighting and surviving longer than me». 

The young man grin a bit sheepishly. «I followed your guidance about Gifts and Omegas, and you never steered me wrong. So I'm ready to trust you with this, if you really think we should stay away».

Peter nods, and there's not a hint of doubt on his face when he answers firmly, giving Derek's arm a brief squeeze. «I that case...I do believe we should keep clear of this». Derek nods back and goes to rise, all at once satisfied and a bit desappointed with the end of the discussion, when Peter grabs his wrist to prevent him from moving further.

«Please», he says, eyes unfailing honest, «do not believe I push aside your concerns without paying it any mind. You may be younger, but I trust you as much as you trust me. I will scout across the town and the woods to try and spot anything out of the ordinary, and you do the same on your side at school. Try to keep an ear open around Laura and the others. Fair enough?».

This time, it's Derek who reaches out and slips a hand behind Peter's nape, tugging him down to press their foreheads together with a grin. «Deal».


	21. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Here chapter 20, unbetaed because El is otherwise busy at the moment. As usual, I'll update as soon as I can. Don't hesitate to tell me if you see glaring typos or mistakes!
> 
> Enjoy!

Derek gives one last, powerful ondulation and touches the edge of the swimming pool. «53 seconds. Very good, Derek, but I'm sure you can do even better! Karen, stop ogling at him and go back to your crawl, you lose too much time on yours double-backs! Move it!».

Derek snorts at the tone, but he's rather satisfied of Mrs Grayson's teaching methods. They're much more encouraging than Slyer's ever were, at any rate. He's about to go back on his lengths of ondulations, when the coach call his name. He rises his eyes to see her jerks her head to the side in a move that clearly says, «Get out for a second».

He swiftly hauls himself out of the water and joins the teacher at the corner desk. «Sorry to interrupt you, Derek»,Mrs Grayson starts, «but I wanted to discuss something with you». Since Derek has a feeling he won't get back in the pool before the end of the lesson, he grabs his towel and wraps it around himself to keep warm.

«I'm listening». Mrs Grayson smiles at him as she says, «I'm very pleased with your times and your progess, particulary when you swim lengths in ondulation. Mr Slyer had left me a note saying that you were interested in learning butterfly stroke, yes?». Derek feels an answering grin strech his lips. Is the coach asking what he thinks she's asking?

«I...yeah». His voice is almost breathless, but who can blame him? Slyer always refused to teach him the butterfly, no matter how often he asked in four years. He clears his throat, and repeats, «I mean, yes, I'm interested. Very much so». The teacher hums in agreement, amusement plain on her face. «Throught so. I suppose I don't need to tell you how hard and complex this type of swimming is?».

Derek swallows and goes back to being serious. «I know it's difficult. I'm ready to put the necessary effort in it». Mrs Gryson nods at that, seemingly pleased. «Very well. You also need to know that learning the butterfly will ask more than four hour the week. We'll need to put at least three more hours of personal training in it. Are you ready to do that as well?».

Derek takes a second to think on it, but in the end he alredy knows he will do it. It's too much of a good occasion to let it pass. «I'll train as much as necessary», he wows. «I won't decieve you, Mrs Grayson. I swear». The coach laughs. «Oh, Derek», she says, «I'm certain you won't».

The others begin to get out of the water, and towards the showers. Brian frowns a bit and rises an eybrow in Derek's direction, but Derek muetly shakes his head. _I'll catch up_ , he mouths, and his best friend nods his understanding. 

Derek turns back to Mrs Grayson, ready to talk a bit more even if he's beggining to shiver, only to find her extending a piece of paper. «My mail», she explains. «Contact me later and we'll find a time for these extra lessons, alright?». «Yes, of course», Derek agrees fervently. «Tank you, Mrs Grayson».

The woman smiles. «Since we'll see each other a lot more often in the future, I think you can call me Kate, Derek».

Derek grins. «Okay...Kate it is, then». He goes to the showers, feeling giddy and cheerful on the whole way. He was right to wait before judging her. She may be too sharp in her words sometimes, but, man, she's really cool when you know her better.

∼

The tug crawls up his back the second Derek gets outside. It never disappeared, not really, but he was concentrating on his swimming, so it was muffled somehow. And now, it's coming back with a vengeance, pricking restlessly at his skin, making his whole body itch.

He rises his head, instantly – instinctively - finding the big shape of the full moon in the dark sky. He feels his eyes change without his consent, just a second, his wolf answering the moon's call on a level too deep for Derek to control it.

He blinks and forces himself to cut out the staring; he's pretty sure he's looking like a perfect moron, standing here and looking at the moon like some kind of lovestruck fool. He shakes his head with a derisive sigh. It's still the evening, and he's already feeling his control slip.

It's not the kind of dangerous loss of control – he has largely passed the age of those. But all the same, no wolf is immune to the call of the moon. For some, generally the youngers – like Derek – the impact is felt when the moon begins to rise. The olders are generally unbothered until around midnight.

Which is why Peter is coming to get him. Not that Derek's lapses are dangerous for humains. He's in perfect control, despite the way his eyes or nails shift here and here. It's only natural. But, still, better make sure no one sees him with shining eyes and claws, cue Peter passing by in the car.

If Derek is not mistaken, his uncle spent most of the day and the evening slipping around and trying to notice anything unusual; any trace of hunters in town. Since he didn't recieve any text or call, he considered that he was still safe.

And he made sure to do his part of the job, too. He doesn't know if Peter found what he looked for, but Derek is certain that the Pack sincerly believes what they said. He always throught so, but Laura's reaction earlier in the day had cimented the assumption. She had nodded curtly when he had annouced his and Peter's refusal to come at the Gathering, but the sudden tension in her frame had been evident.

The Gathering...it should be starting now, or about to. All Derek hopes is that not going hadn't been a mistake. Not that he wanted to go, per se. Being surrounded by not only the Hales but also – from what he heard of his siblings' conversations – emmissaries sent by the Callens...Yeah, no thanks. But still...if they made the wrong choice, it's gonna bite them in the ass pretty hard later, he's sure of it.

He knows Peter is aware of it, too, which is why he hasn't said anything. His uncle is conscious of the risks as much as him, and Derek chose to follow his lead. Now is not the time to question everything and get under Peter's feet. They need to stand united, especially considering their reduced numbers.

A car, a sleek metallic grey Mercedes with tinted windows – in short, definitely not Peter's – stops on the road along the sidewalk, and Derek instantly tenses, rising quickly from his sitting position on the school's stairs, and at the same time getting a firm hold on any flashes of eyes of fangs. Now is not the moment for control lapses, no matter how small. 

The passenger's window rools down, and Derek relaxes when he sees Mrs Grays...Kate's grin. «Need a ride?», she asks, tone at the same time cheerful and teasing. «You look a bit lonely out here, all on your own». Derek can't help his low laugher; he was thinking exactly the same less than five minutes ago.

«Thanks», he says with a bright smile. «But my uncle's giving me one. He should be here any minute now». Kate shrugs prettily. «Too bad for me, then. I'll ask sooner next time». Derek blinks, surprised at the implication that she actually _wanted_ him to tag along, but before he can say anything, Kate's already continuing. «I'll see you around, Derek».

He nods, and she lifts off – and not exactly in accord with speed limits, either. He's still trying to determine if he's reading too much in a few words or not when Peter's Aston rounds the corner and parks gracefully in front of him. Derek opens the car door, throws his bag on the backseat, and slips in.

«Hey», Derek greets him with a smile. «Good day?». Which is more or less code for _Did you find anything?_ Peter smiles back, relaxed enough that Derek knows he didn't. «Yep. No problems». His uncle slips in trafic and waits until they are on the forest path to say: «I didn't see or find anything, but we'll keep looking around for the next week, okay?».

Derek hums his agreement. «Sure».

∼

The next week goes smoothly, and whatever was said at the Gathering, Laura visibly decides to keep it to herself. Not that Derek was expecting anything else; the glare she'd sent his way when he had transmitted Peter and his refusal to come has been a rather clear sign.

Actually, he thinks his sister saw the invitation like a last proposition for peace, and now that they have both rejected it, she is always very careful to stay out of hearing range. In fact, she stays away, period. And even through Derek doesn't feel like being friendly with any of the Pack, it leaves him all on his own at school.

Brian hasn't forgiven him for two weeks ago, and Derek refusing to explain himself didn't arrange the whole argument. When he thinks about it, he's in fact surprised it took so long for his best friend to crack and start asking questions.

Being a werewolf mean all kind of lies; mostly by downplaying his natural abilities, of course, but it's also lying about his whereabouts when the Pack need – or, more accuratly, needed – him. The Hales are at the head of the Beacon Hills territory, after all, and it implies defending it against threats: rogues, of course, but all manners of supernatural population, too.

When a Pack member gets enough control of the shift, he's expected to participate on rogue hunts or patrols around the town. In a way, it's a rite of passage for them; it means you're seen as a full Packmate and not a young to protect. 

Of course, at first, these vigils are always held with another, more experienced wolf, but once you've proved you can hold your own, you're expected to do it alone, always keeping an eye and ear on what's going around, and noticing what could be supernatural events. And there are many of these around BC. 

So much, actually, that it's kinda suspicious. Derek had once told so to Thalia, while she was busy training, and she had answered without thinking, hinting at the town living up to it's name and being an actual beacon for supernatural, before coming back to herself and realising who she was talking to. 

Still, the words had stayed with Derek, and he later had the occasions to notice how true they were. The numbers of times he broke off school or left Brian stranded here without explanations is...high. Very high. And the other boy didn't say anything, until now.

 _I fucking covered for you each time you asked. I didn't say anything this time when you came back with half your face bruised_ – that one rogue had been quite a fighter – _because you asked me to. And all the time, I through that if I showed you I could be trusted, you'd finally tell me what's going on! But that's enough Derek. I want to know. I fucking deserve it!_

And he did. So much. Had it been at any other moment, Derek would probably have actually told him. But right now, things were too unstable. He needed Brian out of harm's way, not throwing himself on the path of hunters or rogue wolves. 

So he had shook his head and opened his mouth to say he was sorry, except Brian had stormed out from the locker room before he could formulate the words. His friend hadn't broken a word with him since.

Which leaves him with exactly two friends: Peter and Kate. Not that he's complaining, because he loves Peter and Kate is really cool, and it's a pleasure to hang out with her after the swim lessons. 

When she had first invited him for a drink, he had hesitated, but in the end, he had been lonely and bored, so he'd accepted. He'd ended having much more fun he would ever have throught. Kate had one hell of a mean streak, but when it was aimed to random people – from the barmen to the clients - it was just too fun to care.

She was quick-witted, too, and before Derek knew it, their conversation had turned from rather formal to an exchange of barbed – if still teasing – comebacks. She could be serious, too, intense and focused when she was discuting the finer points of fighting moves. Because, as Derek had found out, they had a shared interest in hand to hand sports and tactics.

Most of the time, when he broached the subject, his companions ended up bored or shocked – when it wasn't both. Kate had laughed, full-troated and easy, and explained she'd been training in krav-maga – among others – since she was eight. And she loved it, too, that much had been evident in the feral grin that stretched her lips when she spoke of it. 

He'd spent a great evening, and hadn't hesitated to to tell her so, which had lead to them deciding to repeat the experience almost after each lesson, unless one of them had something else to do. It's been a week, now, and Derek is still enjoying himself immensly. Except for Peter, he rarely has such interesting compagny.

So between the two of them, he was rather happy with his situation. He was even beginning to think that the calm was here to stay, for once, at last for a moment. Thinking back, that probably should have tipped him off.

Because everything goes to hell one day later.

∼

It's pouring down outside, so Derek's not surprised when he recives Peter's text. _Coming by to get you. Stay put_. It's nice, because he isn't that interested in getting absolutely drenched. So he resolves to wait, and shakes his head at Kate when she rises an interrogative eyebrow at him from the other side of the hall.

 _Uncle_ , he mouths, and she nods, grinning, before disappearing with a salute. Peter apparently wasn't too far from the school, because the black Aston, barely visible in the rain, stops before the front strairs less than two minutes later. Derek takes a breath and jumps out, running as fast as he can without drawing attention, and slips in the car with evident relief.

He immediately notices Peter's grim expression and thunderous frown, and Derek's heartful thanks dies on his lips. «What's wrong?», he asks instead, shoulders already tensing and eyes flashing blue under the power of the sudden wave of stress. He scans his uncle's frame, trying to notice odds bulges under his clothes or tears in the fabrics that could signal bandages or wounds.

He comes up with nothing, but Peter's body is concealed by the shadows from the waist down. And Derek's pretty sure he can smell traces of blood in the air now that he's paying attention. «You're hurt», he says, and it's not a question. He swallows and forces himself to organise his ideas. Important questions first. 

«Peter, how badly are you hurt? What happened?». _Why didn't you call me_ comes in close third, but now is not the moment to think about that. Peter's anger seems to abate slightly in front of Derek's worry, and the man actually cracks a smile. «It's not much», he says soothingly. «Almost already fully healed». His lips thin and he clenches his jaw when he adds, «And I rather get us home before answering the second part, if you don't mind».

«Sure», Derek nods, reflexivly putting his belt on. Whatever happened, if it was enough to get Peter hurt, then they'd better be off, no questions about it. Peter speeds away, taking the little roads where you cannot miss somebody following you. 

It takes Derek about five minutes to notice the way Peter's hands clench dangerously tight around the wheel, knuckles almost white with the strain. Of _fucking_ course. Imbecile that he is, he believed Peter when his uncle said he was fine, but when the two of them _aren't_ stubborn morons?

 _Foo_ l, he fiercly tells himself, while ordering out loud, «Pull over». «I'm fine», Peter mutters. «And I'm the Queen of freaking England», Derek retorts savagely. «And now, pulll over before we both end in the ditch!». His uncle is hurting, that's certain, but apprently not so much that he can't be an obstinate _asshole_ , because he simply glares at Derek without making a move to stop the car.

Derek inwardly curses him all he knows while trying to find the patience to argue instead of knocking the man inconscious. Which would be _incredibly_ stupid, but whatever, the crash would be _so_ worth the satisfaction. «Peter, it's a miracle that the wheel is still in one piece considering how tightly you're hanging on it», he articulates between clenched teeth. 

«You're in no state to drive. So pull over». Peter opens his mouth, looking ready to argue, but that's when the wheel cracks creepily, illustrating Derek's point perfectly, and the older wolf lets out a resigned sigh before stopping the car. He closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the headset, but Derek isn't feeling very empathic right now.

He's out from the passager seat and opening Peter's door under a minute, determined to not let his uncle argue. «Out», he says, not caring about the fact that he's getting soaked to the skin, and Peter cracks an eye open to look daggers at him for the order, but he does get out, so Derek lets this one pass. 

The problem becomes evident the second Peter puts his left foot down. That is to say, it buckles under his weight so violently that the man would probably have fallen on his knees if Derek hadn't been here to catch him. «What the _fuck_?», he hisses, pushing Peter back down in the seat. «You told me it was almost healed!».

He gets down on a knee, letting his eyes shift so he can see what he's doing under the rain, and gently pushes up his uncle's jean's leg. He can't help a sharp intake of breath, from horror as well as rage. «How long exactly», he asks too carefully, forcefully keeping his touch light instead of gripping hard and shaking his uncle like a fucking plum tree, «did you intend to walk or drive with _that_?».

«It _is_ healed. For the most part», Peter remarks, and he has the fucking gall to sound vaguely amused. Derek looks down on Peter's ankle like he can brun it simply by glaring. «We must have a very different definition of healed, then», he spits coldly, and Peter says «Derek...», in a soothing tone, but Derek isn't going to be calmed that easily. 

«...because in my book, walking around with a steel shard stuck in you foot isn't being _healed_!». He rises his eyes to glare balefully at Peter to impress his point, and this time, the man has the decency to look away. «We just needed to get to the house...» he begins to explain, and Derek firmly tells himself to _not_ blow up at him. «And asking me to drive wasn't possible because...?».

«Because you would have worried!», Peter says like it should be evident, and Derek _explodes_. «And _what the fuck_ do you think I'm doing right now?». He doesn't know how he manages to not roar, but does. His words go no higher than a savage murmur. The frame of the car door, however, caves in with a terrible-sounding screech before Derek gets a hold on himself.

He closes his eyes, conscious that his slippery control is not a good thing, and not helping in any way. He exhales slowly, trying to calm down, when Peter's hand slip on the side of his neck, stroking gently just over his pulse. 

He almost bats it away, but in the end it's too much of an anchor point in the middle of his worry-fuelled rage for him to do anything but lean in the touch. «I'm still so fucking pissed off with you», he mutters, and Peter chuckles. «I know. You made it abundantly clear». 

He's sounding as weary as Derek feels, and that's finally decides the young wolf to postpone the argument in favor of moving. «Okay. Let's get you on the passager seat, and we'll continue this once we'll be home, hum?». Peter snorts without bite and nods. 

«Yeah. I agree wholeheartedly».

∼

It's only when Peter is half sat up on the bed, his jean buched up to the knee and the wound perfectly visible that Derek mesures how much it had to hurt before he began to drain the pain away. 

He shakes his head. «I'm going to get the first aid kit. Don't move, or I swear I'll tie you down on the bed». He disappears in the bathroom before his uncle has a chance to reply. It's only when the door is firmly closed behind him that he allows himself to freak out just a bit.

Because the shard is struck in deep enough that's he pretty sure he'll have to dig it out little by little, at least until the surfaced part is big enough for him to get a good grip and be done with it. And the mental image is just...yeah. 

He takes a breath. He can do this. Peter can't get to the damn thing himself, and the healing isn't much help when even the slightest movement reopen internal wounds and tear muscle tissues and tendons all around. 

Maybe if Peter stayed perfectly immobile, his body would finally reject the shard out – it's even almost certain. But they don't have time. Peter admitted in the car that he had stepped on a steel-jaw trap in the forest. Thing is, nobody hunts in the Beacon Hill preseve. Nobody except werewolf Hunters.

Derek goes to the sink and ruthlessy splashes ice cold water over his face; Now is not the moment to let dread paralyze him. He'll panic later. For now, Peter needs him. He washes his hands up to the elbows, garbs the med kit, and goes back out.

Peter didn't move – good for him, because Derek would have no claims about executing his threat if necessary – but his mesured breaths and closed fists show his pain. Derek clicks his tongue with an exaspered snap. If he's as stubborn all the time, he suddenly understands a lot better why his uncle looks like he wants to strangle him, sometimes.

He sits, careful not to jolt the bed too much, and presses his hand on Peter's leg, looking at the black web crawling up his arm. «Careful with that», Peter says, even if the way his whole body relaxes only highlight how much he needed it. «It's an easy way to lose all you energy without even noticing».

Derek simply hums noncommittaly while trying to work out how he's going to get the damn thing out of Peter's ankle. He cringes only to imagine it, but it seems there's not many ways to do it: he'll have to tug at it in a backwards and forwards movement until he has enough length out to drag it free. Great.

«Okay». He removes his hand from Peter's shin to drift down to the wound. «This is gonna hurt, but please don't ask me to stop because I'm not sure I'll have the guts to do it twice». Peter nods. «Go ahead. Don't worry about me, just get it out». Derek nods back, and wills his hands to stay steady when he grips the shard between two fingers on each side.

He throws a last, sorry glance at Peter, only to find him with his eyes closed. Derek takes a deep breath, pins his uncle's thigh with a knee...and begins to tug. Peter's back arches off the bed, but he doesn't emit a sound, for which Derek is incredibly grateful. Trying to grab the damn piece properly without slicing his fingers open is already difficult enough as it is.

He's tugging in earnest, conscious that any hesitation only means more pain for Peter. The quicker he rips the shard free, the better. He grits his teeth, forcing his blood-covered, slippery fingers to keep working, until he can grab it with one hand.

Without paying any attention to his palm slicing open, he tightens his grip and rips the damn thing out as forcefully as he dares. It comes out with more difficulty than he would have throught – and he understands why the second he takes a look at it. 

It's one of the fangs of the steel jaw trap, and it's serrated on the sides, made to make as much as damage as possible, both internal and upon extraction. Derek throws it on the ground, disgusted and a bit ill. He only has to get a look at Peter's torn ankle to know how well it does its job. Anybody without werewolf healing getting caught in that would have probably lost his lower leg.

Derek shivers, but forces himself to swallow the bile rising up his troat. He still needs to clean the wound – another thing that's going to hurt like hell, but at last he can do that and take a bit of Peter's pain at the same time. He puts one hand back on Peter's shin, letting instinct do it's job – pain-draining always came easily to him.

With the other, he opens the antiseptic bottle and pours it on the torn ankle. It's barabric, but the wound is too deep for simple dabbing to work. Peter hisses between his teeth, a cut-off whine that makes Derek want to instantly, desperately stop and apologize and soothe. 

Instead, he keeps pouring until he is reasonably sure that the whole wound has been treated. He bandages it lightly – the ideal would be to let it breath, but he doesn't want to risk infection right know. 

And then, he litteraly slips off the bed on the ground, hand shaking wildly. He's feeling more and more drained by the second – the aftershock, certainly.

It's only when Peter voice rises, raw with pain and exhaustion, that he understands his sudden tiredness doesn't come from the fall-out of getting the shard out. At least not all of it. «Stop», Peter says, barely audible, and Derek slowly, slowly rises his head to blink at him, unsure of what his uncle means.

«Draining», Peter murmurs, visibly fighting against sleep. «Stop draining». _Draining..._ Derek repeats to himself, and his eyes drift off to his uncle's leg. His hand is still pressing on the older man's shin, and the black veins go almost as high as his soulder. Feeling as through as his arm is made of lead, Derek slips his hand off Peter's skin, and then off the bed.

He closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the matress, and brings his knees up so he can curl on himself, hiding his still shaking hands across his stomach. His breath is coming in harsh pants, and Derek takes a shuddering inhale, desperately trying to calm down.

It's only long minutes later that he gets himself under enough control to notice how horribly stiff and empty he feels. He finally has gotten off the adrenalin spike; but, now, on the other hand, he feels like he's floating, limbs weak and flat, and his vision is gradually darkening. All the telltale signs of exhaustion.

In humans, there would be a risk of severe, coma-inducing hypoglycemia. In wolves, it simply means he's going to crash under less than two minutes, werether he wants it or not.

He's not sure how he finds the strengh to crawl up on the bed – probably, it's just the instinct of being close to his Pack – but he does, curling up against his uncle's warm back.The last thing Derek hears is the deep, steady rhythm of Peter's breaths, and right now, it's all that matter. 

Everything turns dark.


	22. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! Yes, I know, I'm late, but the last weeks have been positively hetic....On the positive side, it gave El the time to Beta this chapter without any rush, and it's a bit longer than my usual chap, too, so I suppose it's not all bad, it is?
> 
> Ah, on the other hand, I found out on a TW forum that apparently, the date for the Hale fire was 2006 (Derek would have been around 16-17 at the time). Can anybody confirm this, so I know if I should rethink my timeline?
> 
> Enjoy!

When Derek wakes up, he feels weak and light-headed, and dizzy with hunger. That's probably why it takes him way longer than it should to turn his head to check on Peter. The man is still sleeping – probably will for a bit longer. The wound is not life-threating, but it is ugly, and deep.

You don't jump back up from that so easily, even when you're a wolf. And besides, healing is always quicker when you sleep. The body resources aren't divided by attention to the surroundings, or stress. So, better for his uncle to sleep as much as he can.

A stomach cramp reminds Derek that his own body what rather taxed last light, if not in the same way. He slowly gets up on an elbow and clings to the idea of food to drag himself across the room to the kitchen. He can't find the will to bother about his still humid clothes, and he rather let Peter sleep in peace than wake him up to change.

Bleary-eyed, he shuffles his way to the kitchen counter and almost puts the coffee machine on in his fogged state before his head clears enough that he realizes it would wake Peter as much as any change in clothes would.

He takes milk from the fridge instead, puts it to boil, and more or less crashes in a chair after garbing a mug and the sugar. It's a battle to find the will to get back up and take the pan off the fire, but the first sip of over-sugared milk instantly clears his head. He feels the weakness slipping away gradually as his energy level gets back up.

By the time he had cleared the mug's content, he's back to his normal self, and he takes the time to consider the situation while simultaneously eating and keeping a watchful eye on Peter. He hasn't stirred, as expected. Good.

Derek's eyes drift down to the bloody mess of the sheets and bandages, and he feels rage curl up in his gut. Steel-jaw traps are disgusting enough as it is when they catch animals, but putting them out there for his species? It's seeing them as less than humans, inferior beings...rogue beasts that are to be caught and put down.

It makes him want to retch, and the fact that Peter has been trapped in one of these things...it brings rather vivid images of murder to mind. Find anyone who did this and rip them to shreds, tear them down until their blood is flowing and coating his fingers, just like Peter's was last evening.

Derek's not especially violent – that is to say, for his species, which are more prompt to fight and blood than humans. He's resistant, yeah, sure, in every sense of the term, but he's not that much of a fighter, and certainly not a killer. But at this second? He would fucking rip the head of any hunter he sees without a hint of remorse.

And maybe, he muses, maybe he should. He's been thinking about it lately, about what his willingness to see the best in people brought him. Pain. Rejection. Disgust. Betimes he wonders if he wouldn't be better off with a lot less scruples.

It wouldn't make him any less of a honorable man, Peter is the living proof of that. His uncle doesn't have any claim about killing if necessary, and yet he's a man worth of more respect than James, for all his Father's morals and Alpha status. And after all, what's a hunter's life compared to Peter's? Not much.

And yet, Derek's not sure he would have the gut to kill in cold-blood. In the middle of a fight, yes. But kill somebody already down? Even knowing they will be a danger later, that they will come back and try again? He doesn't know.

 _He doesn't know_ , and it drives him mad with anger at himself, because the hunters are going to be hot on their heels the second they'll hear of two Gifted Omegas in the area – and they will learn of them, Derek has no illusions about it. And when this time comes, showing mercy will be not only a stupid weakness, but also a dangerous one.

It will be _kill or be killed_ , just like Peter said, and Derek refuses to be the moralistic drag that will get his uncle hurt. If it wasn't for him, Peter would already be out of Beacon Hills and probably hunting somewhere in a Canadian forest, rather than recuperating from a shred ankle. He sighs and rubs at his temples.

Even putting philosophical questions of murder aside, the situation has just turned bad. They took the wrong decision – _Peter took the wrong decision_ , murmurs a voice in Derek head, but he squashes it ruthlessly, because he decided to follow Peter, which make it _their_ mistake.

So, they got it wrong, and now, all they know is that they have enemies around, without any idea of their number, weaponry, chain of command, or even tactics – well, mostly. Hunters have more or less all the same strategies, but the Argents are known for their cunning. If it's the Argents, because that's yet _another thing_ they don't know.

Okay. Derek digs his nails in the wood of the table and nods with determination. Okay, so the situation's fucked up. But they're still (mostly) alright, and together. There has to be something they can do. He's not as good at this as Peter, but still...he made a list of all that's kept in the dark from them, but what _do_ they know?

There effectively are hunters in town, the forest's trap proved it. And, obviously, there are several of them, because unless you have a death wish, you don't take on the territory of a Pack alone, especially when said Pack is known for its sheer number of born wolves in it. 

Alright, these two were easy. What else?

If they are a coordinated force, then they have a HQ somewhere in town. Again, you don't let your forces run wild and kill around at leisure if you have half of a brain cell. Especially in BC, where the police is always ready to anything – after several years of unresolved disappearances, murder and mayhem, they set up quite the surveillance.

So, HQ plus coordination equals a leader somewhere. But from what Derek knows, the hunters are quite independent; and most are reluctant to take orders outside of their alliances or family circles. He can only think of one Hunter clan that would have enough influence to lead: the Argents.

«Shit», he hisses, voice still low, but rough with a mix of rage and fear. Hunters in general are bad enough, but the Argents...he clicks his tongue reprovingly at his own panic. He needs to stay objective about this, not to let children stories and rumors cloud his judgment.

But thing is, except for the stories, he never met any Argent hunters. He doesn't have the slightest idea of how they operate, or even if their reputation is truly earned. He's coming to the end of his knowledge, here. So, what now? He's not sure of what to do. Well, wait for Peter to wake up, obviously, and protect him til then, but except that?

He moves to rub the back of his neck, but the sharp sting of pain in his left hand makes him look down instead. His palm is cut, the wound long and rather deep, and for a moment, he just blinks at it with surprise. And then he remembers slicing his skin open on the shard last night. He forgot about it. Too tired.

Actually, he muses, the sheer amount of dried blood on his hands seem to have slipped under the radar of his exhaustion, too. So a shower may be in order. Right know, he doesn't have a better idea, anyway. 

So he gets up, tides around a bit, and slips in the bathroom, careful to leave the door open in case Peter wakes up.

∼

Derek rubs his arm one last time, and the blood that was still clinging to his skin finally disappear. He closes his eyes for a second. He hadn't realized before he was naked how much of his upper body had been covered by his uncle's blood.

Oh, it wasn't much, just droplets on his neck and arms, mostly, from projections when he ripped the shard out. Having his hands bloody didn't generally make him flinch. But having his hands covered with _Peter's blood_... it had been distressing somehow, so much more of a vivid reaction than normal. 

When had looked into the mirror, and saw red the constellations marring the skin along his collarbones and forearms...He had just wanted it off, with a fury that had made him almost scratch his skin raw. The only thing that had kept him from doing so had been Peter's presence, breath deep in sleep, and Derek's supreme reluctance to wake him.

Instead, he'd jumped in the shower, opened the water without a care in the world about its temperature, and just scrubbed at the skin until all the trace of blood had gotten off. 

He takes a calming breath. He's not sure why he freaked out that much. Compared to the fountain of blood he had been covered with upon getting John home, a few drops were nothing. He huffs at the stupidity of his own reaction, and grabs the shampoo with a derisive shake of his head.

He would love to stay under the almost scalding-hot water until his muscles have unwinded and the tension thrumming under his skin has ebbed, but he's too worried by the situation to let his guard down. Maybe he's being paranoid, but with Peter hurt, he rather have his instincts running too high than not high enough. 

Even through he doubts the hunters actually know were they are, better stay cautious. And besides, he really feels better when he can keep an actual eye on his uncle. With the water drowning out most sounds, he could miss the man waking up. 

Strangers he would immediately notice, because of unknown scents mostly, but Peter...his scent has become so familiar by now. It impregnates the whole house, and it makes any recognition difficult based on odorate alone when he's not close enough.

He slips out of the shower and quickly dries himself, throwing his clothes on. He's still toweling his hair as he gets out of the bathroom. His senses are mostly tuned to the immediate surroundings of the house, trying to decipher any anomalies, and he has no reason to fear anything from the inside of the house, considering the only other occupant is Pack.

Which is why he reacts as violently as he does when the hand closes on his elbow without warning. The grip is nothing threatening, but Derek doesn't think; his instinct takes over, already hyped up from his constant vigilance, before he can stop it. He ducks on the side, grabbing his opponent's arm and twisting it along harshly enough to hear the other's shoulder crack.

At an other moment, it would probably have momentarily stopped him, but if anything, Peter taught him to be more ruthless, and what he's protecting is too important for him to let go that easily. He tugs the man close enough to throw a leg between his, making him crash down on the hard ground mercilessly, elbow still imprisoned in a forceful arm lock behind his back.

It's only when his opponent is on the floor that Derek realizes two things: one, the man isn't resisting at all, and two, it's.... « _Peter_?», he chokes out, disbelieving and a bit horrified. He releases his grip instantly. «What the...since when are you awake?». The accusation in his tone is rather misplaced, but his uncle doesn't seem to take offense.

He rises carefully in a sitting position and rotates his shoulder gingerly. «Just got up, in fact», he explains, and there's an amused glint in his eyes that Derek doesn't understand. «I was hungry, and you were busy. I was going make myself something to eat». The young man pinches his lip reproachfully. Peter shouldn't be walking on that ankle. At all.

But he gets it, in a way. Any important healing takes impressive amounts of energy, whether you're sleeping or not. Coming back from serious injuries always means being absolutely famished upon waking. And considering he just sprained the man's shoulder in addition to throwing him on the floor, Derek decides that he's not the one who should give lessons on injuries' treatment right now. 

He nods. «Get back to bed», he proposes instead, trying to chase his guilt away. «I can get you something to eat, just tell me what you want». Peter's risen eyebrow manages to be serious and just this side of mocking all at once, and Derek feels his hackles come up just a little. «What?», he asks defensively, voice sullen and tense.

«Are you...». Peter eyes narrow, and his subsequent question turns into an affirmation. «You _do_ feel guilty», he states with a sigh. «Why?». «Why?», Derek echoes, dumbfounded that his uncle actually has to ask the question. «How about _because I attacked you and almost dislocated your shoulder_?». The sarcasm and self-anger seem lost on the older wolf, for Peter simply shakes his head.

«Don't be dense, Derek, it doesn't suit you». Peter holds up a hand when his nephew makes a move to protest. «Yes, you just attacked me», he admits easily. «But that was my own fault. I should have expected you to be highly tense after last night. Touching you without warning was stupid on my part».

«No, it fucking _wasn't_ », Derek hisses back, because he's not going to let Peter take the fall on that one. «Christ, of course you touch me without warning. You do it all the time! I was the one who lost control and jumped on you like some kind of, of...of rogue wolf or something!». He swallows convulsively.

«I know it's no excuse», he practically whispers, voice vibrant with tension still, «but I throught...it could have been a hunter coming after you, and I just...I had to put them down, to make sure they couldn't get to you, no matter what». Derek closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the wall. «I'm so sorry», he finally adds, because he doesn't know what else to say.

His eyes are still closed, and he hears Peter move, and sit back properly besides him, close enough that Derek can feel his warmth. He definitely does not lean into the solid, warm line of Peter's body. Absolutely not. But he still somehow ends with his uncle's arm around his shoulders, gently playing with a few strands of hair.

Derek severely stomps on his stupid urge to begin purring and tries to concentrate on his guilt instead. Which would be a lot more easy without Peter calming presence, the older's man scent anchoring him almost against his will. That was probably the plan, actually. Bastard, Derek thinks, but he can't muster any venom in it.

But for all he feels better – not only for the present hug, but simply for the fact of seeing Peter up and about – he's too angry with himself to really let go. At the very least, no before he has apologized properly. «I still hurt you», he finally says aloud, firmly. «And no matter what the circumstances were...I am sorry for that. Sorry I lost control that way».

Derek has tilted his head up before he said it so he could look Peter in the eyes, and his uncle's sigh run on his forehead in a warm breath. «If you need it so much», he answers gently but with a serious edge, «then know you have my unabashed forgiveness». And then the amusement of earlier lights up his eyes again, and he nudges at Derek's temple with a smile.

«And besides, at least now I _know_ that all this training wasn't for nothing». Derek huffs, but it's more from repressed laughter than genuine embarrassment. «Oh, shut up», he still mutters. Any other time, he would have probably followed the malicious tease by an half-hearted jab in the ribs in retaliation, but not today.

Peter's already hurt, and...actually, Derek realizes, Peter is on the ground, sitting on dirt, with an open wound on his leg. Bandaged, but still. Cursing his lack of forethought, he nudges his uncle's good shoulder. «Come on. You shouldn't be down here», he coaxes gently. Peter hums, but doesn't move, and Derek snorts before rising and extending a hand up.

«Up. Let's get you back to bed». Peter stares up at him, seeming in no hurry to get up. «And I'll feed you», Derek adds. This part of the bargain, however, rouses Peter enough that he takes the extended hand, letting Derek drag him to his feet.

«I'm warning you», the older man says while they limp towards the bed, most of Peter's weight on Derek's shoulders, «It better be a very good breakfast». Derek nuzzles at his neck impulsively, affection swelling in him. «Of course», he answers with a grin. «I promise».

∼

Peter finishes his tea – because when Derek had proposed coffee, he’d shaken his head dryly, saying he was awake enough as it was without any external stimulants. That’s when the young man had realised how taught the line of his uncle’s body was.

“Are you in pain?” Stupid question, Derek instantly realises with the urge to hit himself. Half of the man’s ankle is ripped off, _of course_ he’s in pain. He quickly continues, biting his tongue, “If you want, I can…”. 

He’s already halfway up to his elbow when Peter’s hand closes on his shoulder, preventing him from reaching the older’s man’s leg. “No, what you did yesterday was enough. Pain draining can be a dangerous business, if it’s not carefully controlled. I’d rather have you keep clear from it, barring an emergency case”.

Derek frowns. “But”, he protests half-heartedly – he’s still tired, and yet at the same time, he feels tense as a wire, a weird combination that makes him a bit wary of wolfing out, even a little. Especially with his uncontrolled reaction earlier. “You’re hurting, and with the damage to your shoulder, you won’t heal very quickly. It would help”. 

Peter smiles at him, a determined, and yet oddly tender expression on his face. Encouraged by the lack of protestations, Derek pleads earnestly, if carefully, since having his heartbeat betray him wouldn’t help. “I’m a lot better than last night. I feel fine, I swear”. He steels himself to glance at his uncle’s wound, a mess of torn flesh and muscle, which Peter had insisted to let breath.

He swallows, but keeps going in an almost perfectly steady voice. Between John and this, he’s beginning to get quite the stomach for gory sights. “You’re way worse than me”, he says, eyes pained. “I…can’t even imagine how much it has to hurt. I can’t do much, but this…this at least I can do for you”. He raises his eyes, and hazel meets dark blue. “Please. Let me”.

Peter sighs and his hand slips up along Derek’s jaw and behind his neck, squeezing gently. “No”, he answers, and tugs gently on his nephew’s nape. Derek meets him halfway, the movement as familiar as breathing by now, and their foreheads press together. 

“No”, Peter repeats in a firm, warm murmur. “I am touched that you would, but I can’t let you do this. You exhausted yourself enough last night”. Derek is opening his mouth to argue, but the older wolf stop the words in his throat with two fingers on his lips. 

“You’ve become better” Peter acknowledges with a wry grin, “but you’re far from lying convincingly, at least to me”. A shadow slips in his assessing eyes, tone turning serious. “You’re tired and on guard at the same time, and I suspect it’s been this way since I fell asleep”. Derek averts his eyes, conscious that it’s an answer in itself.

Peter’s right. After about two hours of crash-sleep forced by his shaken, mentally battered body, he’d woken back up with the starling, frightening realisation that sleeping as deeply as he had with Peter unable to protect himself and hunters around just wasn’t conceivable. Way, _way_ too dangerous. So he had stood guard all night, falling into a restless, unrestorative trance, wary of any sudden movements or unknown scents.

And maybe it does explain his hyper-vigilant state, but it doesn’t mean Peter has to hurt because of it, which Derek swiftly reminds the man. But visibly, Peter’s not gonna budge on this one, because he simply shakes his head again.

“I’ll be fine. It’s not the first time I’m hurt, and certainly not the worst”. His hand strokes a soothing rhythm on Derek’s skin, just above his spine. “And I’ll heal quicker that you think. All Gifted do. I suppose we had to have a slight compensation for being hunted down all over the globe, after all”.

Derek lets out a tiny laugh, and distinctly feels some of the muscles in his back loosen up. “Yeah, sound about fair”, he sneers derisively. He sighs, and then nods, accepting defeat. “Alright, then” he finally says, aware that persisting is useless. “But if you need it, at any time, you tell me. Deal?”.

Peter grins. “Deal”, he agrees, and Derek knows he means it. He slips tentatively closer, hesitant to sprawl over Peter as per habit with his uncle's injured state, but the man apparently doesn’t share his doubts, because he tugs at him until Derek is burrowed against his side, as is usual for them.

Here, his face pressed into Peter’s neck, the man’s scent filling his lungs at each inhalation, he finally relaxes, body melting into the mattress and along Peter’s. He curls closer out of instinct, eyes falling shut. He’s slowly falling asleep when an ominous crack resonates outside. 

_It’s nothing_ , his rational part immediately understands, putting together the sensory information. _Just a jackrabbit stepping on a dead branch. No threat_. But instinct is always quicker that thought, and more so in wolves. Derek is out of the bed and in front of Peter in a flash, a low, warning growl rumbling in his chest, before he realises it’s not necessary.

When the reality catches up with him, he closes his eyes, mortified. Christ. That was the most pathetic, humiliating loss of control he ever had since he was a child. This kind of reaction is to expect from a werewolf kid, but from a eighteen years old one? “Fuck”, he whispers harshly, clenching his fists and letting his claws bite in his palms.

“Fuck”, he repeats, almost shaking with rage and disgust at himself. First attacking Peter and now that? What the fuck is _wrong_ with him? The merciless grinding of his teeth doesn’t keep him from hearing Peter sit up. “Derek”, he calls, and suddenly, the gentleness and understanding in his tone is just too much. He fucked up, dammit! Hell, _he’s_ fucked up! There’s nothing to _understand_!

A growl resonates from behind him, and before he knows it, there’s a hand closing on Derek’s wrist, tugging harshly, and a foot crashes in his knee, overbalancing him enough that he doesn’t have any other choice but to fall on the bed.

He instantly gets back up on his side to glare something evil at his uncle, who simply rises a cool, calm eyebrow. “What did I say about freaks, fucked up, and others stupid notions in the same line?”. Derek shrugs angrily, unwilling to back down. “It's wholly different. The way I see myself and my Gift, it's me against the Pack – and all the others.”.

“But that...I lost control. Again. I don't need anybody to tell me that's fucked up, Peter”. He shakes his head with a wry, self-depreciating smile. “Unless it's a Gifted's trait to wolf out at any given time?”. Peter rolls his eyes.

“No”, he retorts calmly, even through a dose of sarcasm slips in. “But”, he adds, tapping on Derek's shoulder to make him pay attention, “it is a perfectly natural reaction for a wolf submitted to high stress, fear or anger. And unless I'm very mistaken, you are actually the perfect example of those, with a good dose of tiredness thrown in as well”.

Derek opens his mouth...and closes it. He can't exactly deny it. But still...” _You_ don't go around acting like a rogue”, he agues, but Peter snorts. “No. But _I_ spent almost half of my life surviving to this exact kind of situations. It _does_ induces some familiarity over time”. Derek feels his lips twitch against his will, and Peter smiles warmly.

The man rears back a little, and runs a critical eyes over Derek's frame, noticing his too tense muscles, as well as his slightly unfocused gaze, proof that the younger wolf is still expanding his senses, no doubt to listen out.

He sighs. Obstinate, indeed. Which is a good point for him, in the end, since being Omega demands a will of iron and, often, the ability to be merciless. Derek doesn't have this last trait down yet, but he's smart and though. He'll get here in the end; he'll learn be resourceful enough, Peter doesn't doubt this in the slightest.

As for now...”Roll over”. Peter's voice snaps Derek out of his reflection, and he takes a second to rewind the older man's words, just to make sure he hasn't misheard. “I'm sorry?”, he finally asks, eyes a bit wide. “You're wound so tight it's a miracle you didn't explode yet”, Peter explains dryly, before turning more serious.

“This kind of stress will really mess with your control – and yes, I mean a lot more than it already does. You need to relax. I can handle you wolfing out on me, but I don't think you wish this slips around your classmates, do you?”. Derek imagines it for a second, hitting Brian – hitting _any human_ – with the force he'd used earlier, and shivers. No. No, never.

He swallows. “Okay”, he murmurs, and obligingly rolls on his stomach, trying to calm his rising nerves at being in such a weak position. It's not easy after the recent events: it goes against every instinct he has, wolf and man alike. 

But he needs this, he knows. He has an idea of what Peter is going to do; in a way, it's not so different from touching or scenting each other to calm down. Just a bit more...handsy, he supposes. But in the end, it's just...well, a massage, even if the implications of the term are different for wolves. For humans, it's relaxation, contact, or sometimes, foreplay.

For his kin, it's so much more. It's a way to ensure the proximity of Pack, to link, with a mate or not. It's scent and touch and safety at its most basic level. The lupine equivalent would be grooming between the members of an actual wolf Pack, except the meaning is different for werewolves in the sense that it's a rather intimate way to bond with another. It asks for trust and understanding, on both sides.

 _And Peter and him_ , Derek decides, _have trust and understanding in spades when the other is concerned_. He closes his eyes and slips his arms beneath his head, ruthlessly reigning his senses in until he's entirely centred on the immediate surroundings. But even like this, he can't help but stiffen violently at the first light touch of Peter's hand.

“Easy”, the older man murmurs, gently splaying his palm in the middle of Derek's back. “It's alright. Everything is fine”. Peter's hand slips to his shoulders, quickly joined by the other. He starts to carefully knead along his muscles, and Derek lets out a shuddering sigh when the tension finally begins to give.

Almost despite himself, he feels his eyelids dropping as he surrenders to the soothing motion of the hands on his back. His weight sinks in the matress a little bit more with each relaxed muscle. On the edge of drifting off completely, Derek forces himself awake and rolls over, not wanting to just fall asleep without a word.

Peter, surprised by the sudden movement, overbalances and catches himself with a hand on Derek's stomach to avoid putting pressure on his wounded ankle. The movement puts them even more into each other space, faces barely inches apart, warm breaths mingling and eye to eye.

It's not much to speak of. They sleep curled into each other all the time, stroke bare skin, just as shirtless as they are now, without a hint of embarrassment – or ambivalence. It's hardly anything to think of for a werewolf to touch another that way.

And yet, it changes everything.


	23. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear readers, this is a big day! Because...*drum rolls*...I finally managed to figure out how to quote dialog the english way! Yeah! Seriously, I tried for almost one year, so victory is sweet^^ 
> 
> Also, there's making out in this chapter's start, for the ones interested...(or the ones not interested, so they can jump the mentioned part). More seriously, we're speaking of incest here, albeit consensual, so...you've been warned!
> 
> Enjoy, and tell me what you think!

Derek’s heart brusquely misses a beat, and the sensation seems to echo violently in his body, a brutal, empty pang that makes him dizzy for a second, balanced only by the way Peter’s hand, flat on his stomach, seems so incredibly, impossibly warm.

He takes a shaking breath, ideas flying everywhere, swirling in his skull like terrified, headless birds. His most recurrent thoughts a this second are something that sound like a desperate, terrified mix of _“What the fuck?”_ and _“Roll away, get up, stop this, before he scents you and gets disgusted with you! Just move!”_.

But he can’t. He’s speechless with fear and this horrible, twisted wave of sudden _desire_ , Peter’s almost burning skin on his binding him in place as surely as chains. He opens his mouth, barely mustering the courage to look Peter in the eye – because there’s no way the man didn’t smell his arousal, no way he’s not going to look down at Derek with contempt and horror.

Being Omega is frowned upon, but not that rare. Being Gifted is _such_ a freaking minefield, but it can be managed if you’re strong-willed enough. But this? This is…beyond fucked up. It’s crazy. Just…completely, disgustingly _crazy_. Peter is an open minded man, but that…Somehow, Derek doubts he’ll take well to his fucking _nephew_ , of all people, lusting after him that way.

He’s going to push Derek away, to tell him to fuck off, get out and never return, and Derek can’t blame him. 

His courage finally breaks, because he can take James and Laura and the Pack on any day of the week, but not Peter’s disgust. Never that. Eyes downcast and burning, staring stubbornly at his uncle’s left shoulder, he’s about to apologize, to swear it will never happen again, anything to try and salvage the situation, just a little, when it occurs to him that Peter should have moved off him long minutes ago already.

Actually, he realizes with disbelieving shock, Peter’s heartbeat is calm– only a bit faster than normal, and his breathing is perfectly measured. He’s carefully, oddly still across Derek, too, like he’s afraid that any sudden moves will make him bolt. It’s not the way you treat somebody you’re disgusted with.

Slowly, unable to trust his senses and still persuaded he’s going to meet anger and contempt and repugnance, Derek raises his eyes…and, for the second time in maybe five minutes, his hearts jumps. 

Peter’s eyes are black. 

Not dark blue as usual, but jet black, pupil blown wide over the iris, hunger etched on his face, evident in the way he stares at Derek as transfixed. The young man shivers, enthralled with the way the older man is looking at him as if Derek is all that exists at the moment, as if he’s the only thing that matters, unashamed want burning in his eyes.

Derek inhales gently, almost without daring to, afraid to push his luck. Peter eyes momentarily narrow, but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t protest, simply lets Derek do as he needs.

And it hits him, then, mixed with Peter’s so familiar, well-loved scent. Unrestrained lust, desire and affection mingled in a perfect, dizzying mix that makes Derek stare, unable – unwilling – to look away, his own desire flaring in answer, blood suddenly overheated in his veins, thoughts clouded with images of skin and sweat and hot lips.

But for all the want ringing in his ears, Derek knows Peter well, too well to not notice the rapt attention with which he’s studying his nephew and waiting for his reaction. _Maybe_ , Derek understands, _he’s not the only one who expected rejection_. He swallows, nerves tangling in his stomach, because even now, he’s not sure of what to do.

He wants Peter, he does. So, so much. More than he knew, more than he ever wanted anyone. But he’s just…how does he touch his uncle, now? What barriers, what limitations? What is okay in this fragile thing going on, and what is not? He doesn’t know. Doesn’t know what _he_ wants, not really, much less what Peter expects.

But Derek knows what he _doesn’t_ want. And that’s for Peter to move away. He knows, without a doubt, that the second he gives the slightest hint he doesn't want this – a tiny move to shift away, a barely perceptible shake of his head - the older wolf will instantly back off and probably never broach the subject again.

In fact, even his lack of reaction seems to worry Peter a bit. He doesn't say anything, doesn't try to push, but Derek sees him swallow, a convulsive, tense move that spell hesitance and dented self-confidence. He hates that. Peter should always be assured and confidant, his usual smirk on his lips.

He reaches out on impulse, unsure of what he's doing, and his fingers trace a barely-there caress along the man's jawbone before slipping behind his neck, stroking at the warm skin of Peter's nape in a wordless reassurance.

Peter's eyes fall shut, head tilting into Derek's touch, throat fully bared and defenceless, and the young wolf feels an overwhelming urge to move closer, press his lips on the warm pulse point before him and to kiss and mark the pale, fragile skin, possessiveness and talisman all at once. He closes his eyes – not yet, not now. Not matter how much his skin heats at the very image, it's too soon, too much and too fast. 

When he opens his eyes again, it's to find Peter looking at him, eyes still hooded and heavy with want, but tempered with fondness and amusement, like he knows exactly what Derek is thinking – and when doesn't he? The smile that tugs at Derek's lip in return is natural, and just like that, they're on familiar ground again.

Even accounting for this huge shift in their relationship, they're still Peter and Derek, still _them_ , and that's more precious than any lust or desire, no matter how heady.

Slowly, eyes never leaving Derek's, ready to stop at any sign of tension, Peter turns his head, until he can press a gentle kiss on the skin of his arm, lips warm and slightly wet against Derek's pounding pulse. Derek shivers and gasps, a low sound spilling out from his lips, and he barely has the time to see the flash of heat in Peter's eyes before his...lover, his mind supplies, and Derek shivers again – closes the last inches between them, hot, hungry lips claiming his own.

Derek kisses back fervently, all self-doubts or hesitance melted by a wave of desire, singing under his very skin. He feels the heat of Peter’s body beside him, and his hand reaches out without permission to curl around Peter's shoulder and drag him down, closer, until the older man's superior weight is pressing Derek into the mattress, a hard, hot line that makes him arch and moan.

He presses up further into the kiss, chasing more, but before he gets it, Peter breaks away. Derek emits a low sound of protest and opens his eyes to find Peter's breathing turned heavy and ragged. He can't help but smirk, just a little, before trying to get at his lover kiss-swollen mouth again. 

He's held down firmly, through, by a strength matching his own in a way none of his past lovers' did, and that sends a whole new rush of sparking heat through his blood. But Peter, if he sees the younger wolf reaction – and he most certainly does - chooses to not move except for the soothing stroke of his hand over Derek's stomach, and slowly, the fire between them abates to a warm, pleasant simmer.

Derek let his hand slip up lazily along Peter's spine, tugging gently at the back of his neck in a wordless demand. But Peter simply smiles, takes his hand and kisses his palm, achingly gentle, eyes tender but with a hint of seriousness. He opens his mouth, and Derek, guessing what's coming, covers it quickly with one hand.

“If you say, _'We need to talk'_ God help me, I _will_ kick you out of this bed, I swear”, he warns fiercely, and Peter laughs, nipping at the palm of his hand in a gentle rebuke, before leaning down, fast as a snake, to kiss him thoroughly enough to leave Derek too dazed to protest much when he murmurs at his hear “But we do need to talk, love”. 

Peter moves off him, and Derek shivers once more, this time from the sudden chill at not having the other man weight and warmth blanketing him. And then he mentally rehearses the last words, and he closes his eyes a second. _Love_. Peter had let the endearment slip out without pause or hesitation, like it was the most natural thing to say, and Derek decides to not say anything. He'll keep this one to himself for a bit.

“But first”, Peter adds, sitting up and carefully unfolding his bandage to get a look at his ankle, “I'd better bath this a little”. That snaps Derek out of his daze, and he sits as well to see by himself. The wound has started healing from the moment the shard was out – about nine hours ago now - so it's not so deep anymore, which is a relief. But it's also bleeding a little, and Derek curses in an undertone.

“It's nothing”, Peter says dismissively. “Just give me fifteen minutes in the bathroom and I'll be good as new. Most of the tendon and muscle damage is healed, so the worst has passed”. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and gets up. 

Derek immediately rises as well, ready to catch his arm if necessary, but apparently Peter was right about Gifted healing fast, because he manages to walk mostly without limping to the bathroom. Well...that may be a bit overrated. Let's say it's a lot better than yesterday, which is already a great feat in itself. The door closes after him.

∼

Derek is not freaking out. He's _not_ , no matter what it looks like. He's pacing because...well, he's sure there's a good reason somewhere, he just isn't feeling like searching for it. And, anyway, it's...He closes his eyes and forces himself to be still. Okay, so he's totally and completely freaking out.

Thank fucking God that Peter has gotten under the shower, because if he had heard Derek's frantic walking, he's pretty sure the older wolf would have come out and tried to talk, and... Derek has to admit, he needs this. Need a good fifteen minutes, on his own, to get his brain back in functioning order.

And, apparently, to have a minor and useless freak out. Even if he supposes he has good reasons for this one. If you can't spazz the fuck out after making out with your _uncle_ , then he doesn't see when you can.

And the worst - or the best, maybe, he doesn't even know – is how the simple memory of Peter's mouth on his own, of the strong and unmovable weight across his body, makes his mouth dry and his blood catch fire. And it's ridiculous, because he did a lot more than simple making out rather often – well, not with guys, but the point is, he has gone farther than that, on several occasions. 

And he never, ever felt like he did minutes ago, like he was drunk on his lover's scent, taste and desire. He had never wanted so much before. If Peter has asked to fuck him, he would probably have said yes without even thinking. He rubs his temples. This is...he doesn't even have the words.

Even if you put his own conflicted emotions out of the equation, this is a bad idea. It's just a recipe for disaster and hurt and even more rejection. Christ, just to imagine Laura's reaction, or even Brian's, he's feeling an horrible urge to cry. Or to rip somebody to pieces viciously and bloodily. Why does everything in his life has to be so damn complicated?

He's Omega, Gifted, and now...Now he decides to have a case of bad lust for the only relative he has left. The only positive point in this is that Peter isn't disgusted this what happened. _More like, surprisingly on board with what has happened_ , Derek corrects mentally, and lets out a tired sigh.

After consideration, even that turns out to be mined terrain, because for all Peter was ready to back off, he didn't want to, that much was clear. Well, not that Derek had wanted to stop either – he's man enough to admit it, but...it's just...the sudden chime of his cell is, at the moment, the most perfect distraction ever.

No matter what more problems the text message is going to bring – because these days, there's always a problem; when you (mostly) resolve one, there's always another not far behind – it's better, hundred times better than him torturing himself by thinking so much.

He doesn't see his cell, but his werewolf hearing kindly informs him the sound came from the opposite side of the room, slightly on the left. Which means that, like he suspected, it's on the bed, and Goddammit, couldn't it have simply fallen in a _chair_?

He approaches the bed carefully, almost warily, like it could suddenly grow fangs and bite him, or something. Which is new levels of ridiculous, but he just can't help it. Forcing himself to not pay attention to the scent clinging to the sheets – sweat and arousal, Peter's scent and his blended together in a way that makes him want to bury under the covers and not come out again before a long time.

He swiftly grabs his phone and instantly makes an hasty retreat back in the kitchen before he even tries to get a look on the message. When he does, he simply blinks for a second, before re-reading it to make sure there's no mistake. But no, he very visibly just has received an invitation to go on a date from his swim coach.

Well, it's not said in so many words, but still... _Just got the last student out minutes ago, need to recharge. How about dinner? I'll even let you pay^^_ Granted, it could be a simple invitation between friends, but the teasing tone of the message isn't exactly subtle, and they have been circling this for almost three weeks now.

Less than two hours ago, he wouldn't have hesitated – or rather, he would have because Peter's injured, but it's not the same. Because right now, he's telling himself he can't because...Because what? He kissed Peter, yes, and so? It doesn't make them a married couple. It doesn't make them _anything_. 

He could say yes. He should say yes, so badly. Kate's funny, hot, she has a wicked sense of humour...In one word, she's great. And it would be normal. Easy. It would be, finally, one uncomplicated thing in his life. He would need to push his wolf down, of course, but...doesn't he like her enough to do it? It would be worth it, probably.

But he just can't. First because Derek may be many, many things, but he's no coward. He's not going to flee like a thief while Peter is in the bathroom, no matter how much the future conversation terrifies him. 

Second, he owes it to Peter to stay. To say 'yes' or 'no' to his face. And he deserves explanations, he has the right to an argument. It's the last Derek can do when the man had the courage to tell him about the Lauren Pack eye-to-eye. 

And third...as painful, frightening that truth is...he doesn't want to go. Not really, not deep down. Earlier, with Peter pressed close and tension cracking between them, Derek had felt alive in a wild, carefree way, everything melting away under his lover's mouth. 

Worries and doubts had suddenly ceased to matter, and there was just Peter, his presence blanketing Derek like it was the most comfortable, natural state of things. No questions asked, only warmth and tenderness and desire, an absolute assurance that he was wanted as much as _he_ wanted.

Had it been just lust, Derek would have been already out of the door. But that, back then, it hadn't been lust. Or not only. There had been so much more, something that got way deeper than simple arousal. Something Derek absolutely refuses to name, because if just making out is enough to keep him here when he should be running, then how much is he going to give away if he admits this?

He clenches his fists to the point it hurts, suddenly enraged by the mess of his emotions, rage and fear and longing twisting under his skin and making him feel like he's going to explode. With a frustrated scream of 'Jesus Fucking Christ', he sends his phone flying, desperate to pass his nerves on something, preferably before Peter finishes his shower. 

He waits for the ominous crack of his cell hitting the wall – because considering the strength he had hurled it with, there was no way the damn thing wouldn't end up in pieces, which was the exact goal. Maybe it would help calm him a little. But there's no sound. Except for a calm, measured breathing behind him.

“Fuck you”, he hisses, because really, can't Peter's calm facade break, just this once, so Derek isn't the only one who looks like a raving, overthinking lunatic? There's a tired chuckle from somewhere at his left. “Oh Derek...”, and Peter sounds as pained as Derek feels. “Why do you think I almost ran in the bathroom in the first place?”.

“This is fucked up”. He's shaking, he knows, and he doesn't try to hide it when he finally turns to face Peter. His uncle is standing a few feet away, just as shirtless as earlier, a frown on his face and tension in his shoulders. Derek steps to him, looks at him, right in the eyes when whispers, merciless but terrified, “This is _incest_ ”. 

Peter takes the hit with a wince, lips thinning. But if there's one quality they share, it's honesty, so he nods, a calm, decisive admission. “Yes. If you want to use the official definition, then yes”. He hands his phone back to Derek and the young wolf takes it out of reflex.

“However”, Peter adds, walking back to the kitchen and sitting in one of the chair. “I think we both know there's more to it than that”. He's holding Derek's eyes like he's daring his nephew to disagree, and Derek looks away, unable to lie but still feeling horribly, painfully confused.

“What do you want me to say?”, he finally asks roughly. “That I'm okay with this? Because...”. Derek takes a breath, not knowing how to finish without outright lying. “...it's not normal”, he ends lamely.

Peter sighs, and when Derek looks at him, he can see lines of doubt and exhaustion etched on his face. “It's not”, he agrees, and his voice is suddenly cold and almost defensive. “What do you want _me_ to say, Derek? I never even remotely thought about this. It was as much as a surprise for you as he was for me”. The words are biting, but Derek knows instinctively that they're not aimed at him, not really.

Peter is shaken up too, he realizes. He just has more practice than Derek at hiding it. And that, the fact that he's not the only one floundering and afraid, gives him enough perspective that his own defensiveness deflates. No matter what happens between them, they're still Pack; he shouldn't forget it.

He makes his way to the table, draws out a chair, and sits as well. “Alright”, he says, ans his voice has considerably softened. “So, what do we do, now? I mean...is that going to become...I don't know, usual?”. He can't help his light blush when he says it, because the images that sentence dredges up aren't exactly chaste.

Peter grins, his smile just on the edge of a smirk for a second, before his expression quickly turns serious again. He raises to come in front of Derek, props himself up against the table, and studies him for a moment. “What do you want?”, he finally asks softly.

Derek swallows. What does he want? Christ, if only he knew. But one of them need to begin answer the question, or they'll still be here in a year. “I want...I want this”, he makes a hand gesture to cover the house, Peter and them. “I like it here, I like how we work. I don't want to lose that; it's more precious than lust or sex”.

Now that he started, the words keep coming, helped by the way Peter's attention never waver, like Derek's answer really matters to him. “What we did earlier...I'm not gonna lie, I liked it. A lot. But...but it freaks me out so much, too”. He curls up on himself, bringing his knees to his chest and wedging his chin on them.

“So, I don't now, not really. But it takes two to tango, they say, so...”. He raises his head. “What about you? What do _you_ want?”. Peter stays silent for a long minute before he speaks. “We're on the same page, mostly. You are dear to me, apparently even more than I thought. But I, too, put more importance on what we already have”.

He extends a hand, slowly, giving Derek all the time to move away if he wishes so. He doesn't. Peter's hand strokes gently on his neck, warm and careful, and Derek leans into the touch, feeling the dread in his stomach edge away. “Which is not to say I'm not interested by this”, he murmurs, and the teasing can't hide the tenderness in his tone.

Derek's tense frame relaxes when he smiles, and he unfurls to rise in turn. He steps to Peter, close, and closer even, until their chests are brushing, and he closes his eyes, giving himself one last second to change his mind or step back.

But it's too late, he understands it now. Way too late, because this? This was always here, behind friendship and trust and affection. They've been heading this way for a long time, now, and Derek may be afraid, but he's also feeling more at peace than ever.

He reaches out, hand slipping behind Peter's neck, and he tugs gently, until he can brush a kiss on the man's lips. “Slow?”, he half-says, half-asks, and Peter's hands slip around him, on his hip and the small of his back, warm and reassuring.

“Slow. And anything else you want”. It's a promise, sealed when Peter mouth press on his his in a barely-there caress. Derek laughs. 

“Not _that_ slow”, he says, and claims Peter's lips in turn, hungry and hot and unashamed.


	24. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here chapter 23, betaed, as always by El!  
> Enjoy!

“I missed all my classes”, Derek remarks lazily, not looking very sorry about it. He stretches luxuriously under the steady stroke of Peter's hand on his side. “Hum, and you care about it so much, do you?”. Peter practically purrs in answer, making him laugh.

“Okay, so I couldn't care less”, he admits cheerfully, rolling on the side so he can grabs a large, folded piece of paper on the nightstand. “But”, he adds more seriously, “We should, however, be caring about that, shouldn't we?”.

Peter's hand stops momentarily, before resuming his gentle up and down. “True”, he agrees. He reaches out to take the paper from Derek and opens it with a quick shake. The town's map obligingly unfolds between them on the bed.

Theoretically, they should've been spending the last few hours on planing already, but in retrospect, deciding to go plan on the bed – which was the largest and most comfortable surface available - had been a very bad idea. The thinking time had quickly and unsurprisingly turned into make out time.

It's all Peter's fault, really, Derek thinks. After all, he's the one who began to let his free hand roam all over Derek's back, nevermind that he hadn't exactly objected either. Or that he had finally snapped and hauled the man atop him for a kiss. The point is, Peter started it. So, his fault.

And speaking of that...”If you want me to be of any use, I think you'd better get you hand off me”. Peter smirks without even trying to hide, and Derek half-heartedly glares at him. It's probably not very successful, because he's feeling relaxed, loose with warmth and affection still.

For a second, when they had gotten back on the bed – because Peter should have been letting his ankle rest, not propping himself against a table – it had been awkward, because what was something mundane barely an hour prior has turned into the possibility for so much more.

Not that any of them was ready to cross that boundary yet, of course, but the simple fact that the thought was there, even unspoken, had put a bit of a strain in the situation, turning normally instinctive caresses and strokes into halted and swiftly retreated movements, unsure of how to touch.

Derek had initially been rather surprised at how much Peter seemed to hesitate as much as he did – because, well...he had expected it from himself; still reeling from the sudden change, of the fact of being allowed to reach out so much more...And besides, as stupid as it may sound, he had never touched a man like that, and it was different somehow, enough that he had felt an unusual shyness come over him.

But then, when he had see the aborted movement on Peter's side, he had realized that it wasn't only nervousness that made him so reluctant to act: it was waiting. Because he had been waiting, naturally expecting Peter to take the plunge, like it was only normal that his lover put himself out there while he awaited, doing nothing.

He had pursed his lips, angry at himself. He had said it earlier; It takes two to tango, and it was true. He knew that Peter would always be willing to met him, but if he, Derek, didn't make the effort to come halfway, all of this...thing...between them would crumble like a house of cards. He had nodded to himself decisively, and sat up.

Peter's eyes had snapped to his immediately, wary and surprised all at once, and Derek had slowly slipped closer, until he could press himself against his lover's side, lightly. He hadn't had the time to wonder how he would be received, either, because the tension had seeped out from Peter's body the second they had touched, allowing Derek to burrow farther into the other man's shoulder, feeling his own stupid nerves fall away.

Peter's arm had curled around his back, fingertips tracing a slow, almost absent pattern over his left shoulder, and Derek had just closed his eyes, content with the closeness of Peter all around him, in scent as well as in touch.

They had stayed like this for a long moment, before the older man had stirred and said apologetically that they should try to think and plan about the Hunters. Derek had cracked an unimpressed eye open, but had finally yawned and rolled over to grab the plan on the nightstand.

That's when Peter's hand had slipped up his spine, firm and hot, and...well. The rest is history, as they say.

But still. Planning. It's important. Theirs lives could very well depend on it, and the memory of Peter's shredded ankle is incentive enough that Derek forces himself to concentrate. “The main problem”, he states, because they need to start somewhere, “is that we don't know how much of them are in town, and where they can be”.

Peter hums in agreement, expression thoughtful. “I don't think they can be too high of a number”, he answers, lips pursed. “A big group of people arriving in town would have been too remarkable, and BC isn't a city. Several persons moving in, even at separate times, would have been noticed”.

“Yeah, maybe”. Derek mulls that over, frowning. “But at the same time, entering the territory of the Hale Pack, who is known for its size...I mean, would you take the risk of being so outnumbered? Especially against werewolves?”. 

The ratio is generally about two hunters for a wolf – ones to ones are rare and avoided, for obvious reasons – but most hunters don't hesitate to turn it into three or even four against one. Not much more, because then coordination become complicated, but still...

There's nine direct blood relatives of the Alpha in the Hale Pack who are werewolves – Derek's sisters, brother, cousins and great-parents. So, twelve wolves in total, nine experienced enough to fight if necessary - he keeps Peter and himself out of the count – plus six humans. A Pack of almost twenty individuals.

For actual wolves, it's nothing – their Packs can grow as much as thirty, or even forty wolves. In werewolf Packs, it's rare to go beyond twenty-five, and thirty is considered exceptional. Twenty, or almost, is already the mark of a strong, established Pack. It indicates a group who is not only holding his territory, but growing on it, too.

If Derek keeps the probabilities straight – which is to say, if none of the concerned parties decide to pull out a too twisted or devious move – the hunters should be about twenty-five. In a small town like BC, when people know each other, such a group would have been spotted. 

But on the other hand, taking on a wolf Pack while being outnumbered is quasi-suicide. Unless...”Hunters are no fools. Killers, for some, but not stupid”. Peter voices Derek's thoughts exactly, fingers playing on the map. “If they are so few as to go unnoticed, then they certainly have a plan”. And here goes for Derek's savant statistics.

But whatever. If they're right, then they have a big problem, here. Hunters are dangerous. Hunters with a plan...well, it depends on the plan, Derek guesses. You can be persuaded you have the best strategy in the universe and get killed because your tactic was, in fact, shit. Or that the wind turned without warning.

Derek flops down on his back with a sigh. Glaring at the map isn't doing much good anyway. “So what? Do we still try to localize them? Or rather, recognize them?”. Because he doesn't doubt they have slipped into the vital areas in town, slipping pawns here and here. Peter seems to follow his line of thinking easily.

“They most probably have someone at the PD, if only to cover theirs traces or lift evidence when needed”, the older wolf muses. Not surprising. One of the Preserve's rangers does the same for the Pack. “The hospital, too”, Derek promptly adds, and Peter sends him a small smile. “Certainly”, he agrees. 

There's a moment of silence, and Peter asks, “The school?”, even through he looks a bit dubious. “Anybody acting strangely?”. Derek shakes his head. “No. No, I don't see anyone”. He shrugs with a wry grin. “ And besides, it's not that much of an important area, after all. Frankly, who'd want to use the BC school grounds – as HQ or as place to infiltrate? I think the idea of teenagers all around is more than repelling enough”.

Peter chuckles, but nods. “Alright then. Let's put the school on the background for the moment, and go back to the HQ's location”. Derek cocks his head on the side, lost in thoughts. “But you didn't find anything when you swept the town”, he finally remarks slowly. “And you did it twice”. 

“True”, Peter acknowledges. “But on the other hand, I searched by day. Maybe I should have done it at night, too”. He looks like he's really considering it, and Derek shivers. He doesn't want to see Peter catch his other ankle in whatever trap he could walk on because he didn't see it . He's opening his mouth to say that they should find another idea, when Peter beats him to it.

“Maybe...maybe you were right. About speaking to James”, he precises when Derek sends him a interrogative glance. “The two of us against Hunters who very probably are more numerous...it wouldn't hurt to have more intel”. Derek blinks, a bit thrown off by his lover's sudden change of heart.

“I thought you didn't want to even go to the house”, he points out, even if he agrees that it would be a good idea. “Oh, believe me, I'm not overjoyed”, Peter retorts dryly. “But still...”. The older wolf pushes the map off the bed without a second glance, and slips close, his fingers trailing slowly along Derek's collarbone, eyes rather dark.

“I never want to see you in the hunter's hands. Or even in a steel-jaw trap”. Peter's hand presses down on his chest, flat over his heart. “Not if there's anything I can do to prevent it”. The fingers curl just a bit, nails digging into Derek's skin. “Swallowing my pride is a small price to pay to see you safe”.

Derek looks away, a bit embarrassed, before biting his tongue in self-reproach. Peter only told the truth, and showing his regard and care for his lover shouldn't make Derek feel like he has to close up or redirect the conversation. He reports his eyes firmly on Peter, and says, forcing the words past his lips. 

“I would, too. Do anything so you never have to be hurt again like this”. His eyes flicker to Peter's ankle, now almost fully healed, the horrible, gaping wound turned into a small patch of new skin, pink and tender. It's like the image of the shard impaled deep into the bone is nothing but a figment of Derek's imagination. But even through the physical mark has faded, Derek remembers. 

Remembers the desperate, instinctive arch of Peter's spine when he had ripped the steel from his leg, even through the elder wolf hadn't made a sound, can almost still hear the low, muffled whine when he'd poured the antiseptic, like his lover had hit his limit and just couldn't stay silent anymore...Never again.

He swears it to himself. He will kill anybody who tries first. _Never. Again._ His wolf stirs inside him, like a wildness suddenly waking up, answering to his rage and overwhelming urge to protect, no matter the price, and he can feel the shift, knows his eyes are flashing electric blue, but for once, the momentarily loss of control doesn't bother him.

And Peter...Peter smiles at the display, eyes warm and gentle. He leans down, his hand stroking over Derek's pulse, strangely hypnotic. “Thank you”, he whispers, breath warm over the younger wolf's lips, and Derek reaches out the press theirs foreheads together in was has become their way to express affection without words. 

“Always”, he mumbles, right against Peter's lips, before he drags him in a kiss. Peter does not need much encouragement before he kisses back, tongues mingling over dry lips, hot and wet and perfect. When they finally come up for air – after a three good minutes, being a werewolf has its perks – Peter begins to move away, as usual.

He always does, like he thinks staying close will press his lover into more somehow. But Derek, bold with desire, decides that the whole 'meet the other halfway' means also saying – or acting - on what he wants, and he happens to have plans. He lets Peter rise as far as being on his knees, and then he hooks a leg behind his, pulls and rolls on the side with a hip thrust.

Because he calculated his angle well – and, let's be frank, probably because Peter isn't expecting it – the thrown works perfectly and Derek finds himself straddling Peter's waist, grinning devilishly down at the other man, who, far from being disgruntled, simply laughs, easy and amused.

Peter lets his arms fall at his sides, eying his lover with mirth – and heat, Derek quickly notices. Visibly, the older wolf hasn't got any problem with Derek acting on what he wants. “So”, Peter says, and the low purr makes lust clench like a vice in Derek's stomach, “now that you have me where you want me...”. 

Peter's hand slips up across Derek's ribs, and he feels his thoughts derail dangerously fast. He almost doesn't hear the end of the sentence. “...what are you going to do about it?”. Derek swallows, mind clouded with want. “Didn't think that far”, he admits, letting his hands roam slowly over Peter's chest.

He relishes into the low, appreciative rumble it earns him, enthralled by the way Peter skin feels under his fingers now that he's touching in earnest, at how the muscles jump and move under his palms. 

And, that, that brings him back into well-known ground, because while Derek may never had slept – or done anything else – with a man before, desire is desire in the end, no matter your partner's sex. And desire, he sure as hell knows how to work with. Derek lets his grin turn predatory, and Peter's eyes visibly darken in answer.

He leans in to nuzzle along the other man's jawbone and up to his ear. “What would you let me do about it?”. He asks in low, warm whisper, more tease than serious question, but Peter turns his head, pressing a kiss on Derek's temple. “Anything you want”, he murmurs back heatedly, and Derek's skin suddenly feels impossibly hot and tight.

Dizzy with the sudden wave of pure _want_ coursing through his veins, he turns his head to catch Peter's lips in a kiss, hot and open-mouthed and half-clumsy with lust. It's more teeth and tongue than lips, but if the way Peter's fingers tangle almost forcefully in his hair is any indication, his lover doesn't seem to mind. 

Derek presses closer to the other man's burning skin, their kiss turning even hungrier. And when he finally rips his lips away to catch his breath, it's only for Peter - visibly discontent with the end of the kiss - to start mouthing at his jaw, steadily licking and nibbling his way towards Derek's neck. 

He stops just short of nuzzling in, through, panting warm, quickened breaths over the exposed skin, and Derek whines in protest at the tease for a second before his lust-addled brain kicks in gear, making him realize that Peter is, in fact, waiting for his permission.

“ _Yes_ ”, he hisses, and frankly, wasn't that evident from the way he's leaning in, shivering at each touch of Peter's lips and crowding almost desperately closer to get more of it? His answer earns him a low, subvocalized sound, something akin to a pleased purr, before warm lips are brushing against his throat.

The touch is gentle, no tongue or teeth, just the slow, unhurried caress of lips, first under his jaw, and then slipping down his neck, carefully mouthing over his pulse. Derek closes his eyes and tilts is head just a bit in encouragement, one hand reaching up to begin racking into Peter's hair and down his nape, naked desire in every gesture.

One of them, Derek isn't sure who, lets out a moan and that's more than enough to make his blood catch fire. He tugs at Peter's shoulder until the older man gets the message and consents to rises his head enough that Derek can kiss him, this time claiming and possessive, licking into Peter's mouth like he has every right to, fierce with passion.

And Peter lets him, welcomes him, tugging him down until they're laying into a warm tangle of limbs, mouths fused together and deliciously, completely breathless.

And that's when Derek's phone rings. For a second, it just doesn't register – he's way too busy kissing Peter and pushing him more and more into the mattress, like he can somehow end up inside the man if he crawls on him forcefully enough. And then, it finally registers, and he just freezes in disbelief. _Come on, seriously? Now of all times?_

He finally deigns to turn his head, sending his best murdering scowl in the general direction of the sound – on the kitchen table, he notices vaguely. Mostly, he's regretting that his Gift doesn't allow him to blow up things by glaring. “You should have let it crash against the wall”, he mutters reprovingly, poking at Peter's ribs.

The man chuckles and prods back mercilessly, until Derek squirms away with a huff of reluctant laugher. “Aren't you going to answer that?”, he asks, still running his fingers all over the younger wolf's stomach in a maddening tickle. Derek bats Peter's hand away and sighs. “I suppose”, he grumbles, and rolls off the bed. He has barely gotten up that the ringing stop.

He closes his eyes briefly to try and keep his calm, and ignores Peter decidedly amused sound from somewhere behind him in order to go snatch his cell of the table – and not too gently either. _One missed call_ , his phone informs him dutifully, and Derek rolls his eyes.

 _No shit_ , he thinks abrasively, before grimacing when he sees the caller's ID. _Kate_. Of course. He'd never answered her date proposition, after all. Too busing making out with Peter at first, and later...well, it had just...slipped his mind.

In itself, it wouldn't be that bad. She probably has the right to be a bit disgruntled, since he not only said no, but he did it by not answering, which isn't very nice, or even polite, but well...it's not like she's madly in love with him, so normally, it would be okay. But Kate isn't one of the girls in his class. She's a teacher. _His_ teacher, to be more specific.

And even through nothing happened, it's a problem. Or rather it could become one quickly if she decides to take offense of his – admittedly ungentlemanly – behavior. Technically, Kate has the power to make his life very uncomfortable. He doesn't think she's that petty, but better be safe than sorry, he guesses.

His lips thin briefly. They have a lesson tonight. He intended to skip, in order to accompany Peter at the house, but...very soon, they're going to find themselves in a conflict with the Hunters, there's no doubt about it. And when the time will come, it won't be the moment to deal with – or to be distracted by - unfinished business.

No, better take care of it as swiftly as possible. So, he goes to the pool, apologizes, and with luck, there won't be any hard feelings about it. And then he can catch up with Peter at the house. It's a good plan. Not ideal, not by far, because Christ, the idea of leaving Peter go alone makes him grit his teeth with worry.

But Peter doesn't need his protection, Derek reminds himself firmly. He's been dealing with the Pack's rejection and wariness for almost ten years, now. He's perfectly able to take care of himself. Except for his moral support, Derek's presence won't help much, in the end. 

Doesn't change the fact that he would rather have preferred being here.

He shakes his head. Circling reasoning never leads anywhere. He turns back towards the bed. “Look”, he begins, before momentarily stopping. Peter doesn't know about Kate, he realizes suddenly. At first it was because he wasn't sure where he stood with her, and lately...well, he chose Peter, so he thought there wasn't any reasons to speak about it.

But there is now, so he goes to sit on the bed, arranging himself in a cross-legged position a bit nervously, before finally explaining the situation, trying to not wince all the while at how it sounds. He's expecting Peter to take it rather badly, and finds himself shocked – and just a bit hurt – when his lover bursts out of laughing.

He figures that it beats getting angry, so he doesn't comment and tries to look as blank as possible – which of course, fail, because he sucks at it. “Sorry”, Peter says earnestly, even through he's still grinning. “But you should have seen your face. You looked like you were facing a death sentence”. He smiles fondly.

“Derek, I'm not arrogant enough to believe you didn't have lovers before me. And, as for your star-crossed romance with your swim coach...”. “Fuck you”, Derek interjects without much bite, and Peter smirks at him before continuing, “...I think I'll get over my overwhelming jealousy somehow”. He shrugs. “Frankly, it doesn't bother me that much. In the end, you're here with me, aren't you?”

Derek blinks. “Sure', he replies, still surprised at the calm reaction. Maybe it's true that men are less jealous? Most of the time, he tries to sidestep this kind of stereotypes, but...on the other hand, had Peter announced to _him_ that he had been considering another relationship one hour before they got together, Derek doesn't doubt he would have taken it (very) badly.

Maybe it's just that Peter isn't the jealous type, he muses. And besides, his lover's right: Derek had the perfect chance to bolt and run, and in the end he's still here. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

“Okay”, he nods, this time without a hint of hesitation. “So I'll catch up with you around...let's say 7:30?”. He sure as hell hopes than one hour will be more than enough. It should be, right? Kate can't be that mad over one little dinner proposition, after all.

“I'm sorry”, he adds with a sigh. “I really wanted to be with you, but...”. It's Derek turn to shrug. At least, once this whole thing with Kate will be over, he'll be able to concentrate on what matters. Peter grabs his wrist and tugs him down. “I'll manage”, the man answers, one hand slipping up Derek's spine.”Don't worry about me”.

And any chance of a reply is stolen along with Derek's breath when Peter kisses him, hard, harder than he ever did, bruising and possessive, biting at his lover's lower lip before soothing the sting with a warm tongue and retreating. “To remind you who you chose when you'll speak with her”, Peter murmurs.

Derek, still a bit stunned, licks his lips reflexively, chasing the taste of his lover on his mouth. Then he stares down at Peter almost thoughtfully and slowly, a smirks finds its way to his lips. “Not jealous, huh?”, he comments slyly.

Peter eyes narrow. “Shut up”, he retorts, and Derek is still laughing when they kiss.

∼

He didn't see it coming. Not a second he thought about, or even imagined, the possibility. But now, with the water closing over him and his lungs screaming for air, all Derek can think about is how much of a fool he was.

Peter had even asked this morning, _What about the school?_ And he had answered, sure and unconcerned and stupid, so stupid, _No, nothing suspicious_. Ah! Back to his face, and it's a – very ironic – understatement.

He didn't have time to react, at all. Even his wolf reflexes weren't enough, and he wasn't on his guard anyway. Why should he have? He was at the pool, with his swim coach. He had stepped besides the water, surprised that Kate wasn't here yet. She was always punctual.

And then the pain had exploded through his back and chest without warning, and he had fallen to his knees, only to be violently garbed by the hair, twisting his head up.

“ _Nobody_ shoots me down, and certainly not a disgusting creature like you!” Kate had snarled, rage and contempt turning her face ugly with repugnance.

And then she had kicked him in the face, making him tumble in the pool, too dumfounded with pain and shock to react.


	25. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I was quick this time round, wasn't I? This chapter came to me remarkably naturally. It's slightly shorter than usual, because I needed to break when I did or make it way too long for my taste.
> 
> Unbetaed for the moment, but enjoy, and tell me what you think!

_It probably was a bullet meant to fragment inside the body_. The consideration, rather absurd in his situation, blooms in Derek's mind. Maybe it's a sign the lack of oxygen is getting to him. He's been under for...well, he doesn't know how long, really, but...too long.

Too long, because his chest doesn't feel like exploding from keeping the air in anymore, and he's not really hurting, more like...floating. Which is a bad sign. And weird, too, because he's pretty sure he's sinking, actually. Fast. So the sensation doesn't really make sense. Yeah, so weird.

The water is tinted dark red all around him, and he vaguely wonders how much blood he lost. He can feel the mangled mess of his chest healing – slowly, terribly slowly – but it's not the problem anyway. 

He's going to die no matter what, drowning slowly, and probably painfully. Or maybe not. With any luck, he'll stay like this, with this fuzzy, strange floating-like sensation, and he'll get the chance to go peacefully.

A tiny part of him, the part that fought and bleed and got back up from everything these last months protests and snarls, but Derek can't find the will to fight back. He's too weak, and what good would it do anyway?

He can't move, after all. 

He had felt it about half a second after the bullet hit. A paralytic of some kind, slipping in his blood, curling in his veins like poison. Quite the dose, too. And that's when he had understood: the injury didn't matter. He had wondered why it hadn't been wolfsbane at first, but it had became suddenly very clear.

The wound was only here to slow him down, to force his healing to work on the vital area of his pierced lungs – and very possibly damaged heart, he wasn't sure. And all the while, he was sinking, the paralytic keeping him unable to swim up. Healing while drowning. While dying.

A part of him wants to laugh. Laugh at the irony...the irony of everything, really. That he was stupid enough to fall in the trap in the first place. 

That Kate, who he thought a friend, put enough forethought into this that it'll look like a simple swimming accident – since he'll be long healed when his body will be fished out, and the swimming pool's filtering system will have taken care of all traces of blood.

Mostly he thinks he want to laugh so he doesn't start to cry. Because he's dying. After everything he went through. After fighting his way – literally as well as metaphorically – against so much punches, from everyone. Laura, James...John...maybe the uncaring little shit will actually get the meaning of family, this time round, he thinks bitterly.

But he doesn't want to die with anger and rage as his only friends, so he turns his thoughts towards Peter. _I'm sorry_ , he thinks. _Sorry to make you suffer another loss. Sorry to finally be one of all the people who hurt you. So, so, sorry..._

Derek hits the pool's bottom gently, almost like he's cradled by the water, and he closes his eyes. His vision is turning dark, anyway. And he much prefers concentrating on recreating Peter's face behind his eyelids, dark blue eyes mocking and tender all at once, mouth tilted up in this patented smirk of his.

It's nice. So nice, he could let go...but there's something...something nudging at his mind. Like he forgot...he doesn't know what. And it's stupid anyway. What can you forgot when you're dying? To say mental goodbyes to everyone? He already did. Thought of the whole family to...

His mind screeches to a halt. _Family_. It was something about family, but what? What could he have thought about...But no, no, it wasn't him. It was somebody else. Somebody had spoken of family. Of his family.

 _The Hales_ , they had said. But who? And what for? It's important, he feels it to his bones. He opens his eyes, blinks furiously without paying any mind to the burning sensation of chlorine, trying to chase the drowsiness away. He needs to remember. He has to, it's too important, it's _vital_ , what is it? What can it be?

His sudden snap to back attention, dragging himself from the floating-like feeling induced by endorphins and oxygen lack, makes him suddenly horribly aware of the pressure in his chest, in his throat. His mouth opens before he can control it, trying to gulp air and only getting water instead.

He struggles weakly, limbs barely moving, chocking on water, on panic and despair and terror. And yet, it saves his life. Because in this precise second, his mind suddenly focus like a laser, and he can hear the words as clearly as if Kate was saying them by his ear.

 _The Hales will all end up like this, don't worry. An unfortunate fire hazard_. She wants to kill them. God, she wants to...No, no. Not that, please not that. He has...he can't die here, not like this, he has to warn them.

Fueled by adrenalin and horror and hatred, Derek tries one last desperate move. He closes his eyes, gathers up all the strength he can...and _pushes_ , putting everything he as left of will behind it.

∼

“...rek! Derek!” . The voice cuts through Derek's brain mercilessly, sweeping away his dizziness and forcing his focus back on something else beyond the rasping cough of his lungs and his desperate gulps of air.

He coughs again, forceful but weak, unable to find the strength to roll on his back to look at whoever is calling his name. Unable to even open his eyes. He simply stays here, curled on his side, trying to regain enough breath back to be able to say something, anything.

“Derek, what happened?”. There's a careful hand on his shoulder, deliciously warm on his chilled skin, and Derek makes the effort to crack his eyes open. “Peter?,” he croaks out, but he knows at the same second this is not Peter because the smell is wrong, and the voice, too.

But it's familiar enough that he feels relatively safe, and he sags back on the cold tiles, shaking and weak like a newborn. The black points all over his vision don't seem intent on disappearing soon, so he closes his eyes again.

Only to be roughly slapped across the check. “Hey, no! Don't go to sleep!”. Derek tries to scowl in the general direction of the man, but he only ends up curling up further on himself. He doesn't want to be awake. It hurts. It hurts so much, all over, and he can't seem to take a full breath without feeling like he's going to spit out his whole ribcage in a coughing fit.

But the man doesn't stop, prodding and pushing at him until he snaps, a savage, creaked growl tearing from his abused throat, an unmistakable warning to _stop messing with him or else_. He smells sudden fear, and the hands on his side are instantly taken away.

Satisfied, Derek rolls up on himself again, like a dog going to sleep. He hears distinctly the annoying man curse, but apparently, he doesn't dare to touch him. Good. Derek will tear his head off if he tries again. On this happy thought, he's about to go back to napping, when the guy's voice resonates, urgent and tense.

“Derek. _Please_. It's Brian”. Almost against his will, Derek's eyes blink slowly open, interest piqued. He knows a Brian, he's pretty sure. Brian...his best friend, a tiny part of his brain helpfully supplies. Okay. Derek blinks again, unsure of what to do with this information. He's tired, too tired to think.

“I think there's something wrong”, the man – Brian – says, sounding pained, and Derek suddenly wants to punch him in the face, irritated beyond measure. Of course there's something wrong, with the moron that refuses to leave him alone to rest! But the irksome idiot doesn't seem to notice that fact, and continues to talk instead.

“I...when I got down here, I saw Kate, she...”. But Derek isn't listening anymore. He has forced himself up on an elbow, the simple name throwing him in a state of full alert. _Kate_. Kate who shoot him, left him to drown. Kate the hunter. Kate...Kate who wants to burn his whole family, including Peter.

Derek grits his teeth, battling the powerful pull of the deep instinct telling him to let go and rest. He shakes his head, trying to clear his ideas, and regrets it instantly when it feels like he's going to pass out. 

His elbow tremble under his weight, and he has to lie down again before he crashes back to the ground. Instantly, the overwhelming exhaustion threaten to engulf him again, and he bites his tongue as hard as he can. God, it's not the moment to run out of energy! He remembers Peter's words about healing trances, and he feels fear crawl up his stomach.

Not that. He can't, not _now_! “Brian”, he calls, and his voice sounds like a broken, useless thing, syllables barely recognizable. For a second he's afraid his friend hasn't heard, or understood. But less than a minute later, he feels a presence at his side, and he looks up to Brian's half-terrified face.

Oh, yes. He growled earlier, didn't he? He can't remember if he wolfed out too, but the fear on the other boy's face is answer enough. He stomps on the wave of despair he feels at that. He needs Brian's help desperately, and if his friend is too afraid to give it...No. No, he can't think like that. Brian will help. 

He has to, because if he doesn't, Derek is going to lose everything he holds dear without being able to do anything about it. He still doesn't know how much time he lost with this half-trance earlier. He can't afford to lose more. He quickly runs over what would be easier for an human, and finally, he says – begs would probably be more accurate - “Break my fingers”.

Brian stares at him like he has lost his wits, and Derek resists the urge to growl him into action. He will do it in last resort, but...He needs his friend's cooperation, here, not his mistrust and fear. “Please”, he manages to adds, his tongue like gruel in his mouth. _I need to heal_ , he wants to add, but it's too much to say in one go.

“Please”, he repeats again, and Brian continues to fix him like he's wondering if he should call the asylum. Derek doesn't have the time for that, and he's unable to argue, so he does the only thing he can. He shows his teeth, full length, rows of elongated, perfect canines. “Do it”, he snaps harshly, even if it feels like he's clawing the inside of his throat.

Brian jerks back, plain terror on his face – and for a second, Derek thinks of Cora. She had looked at him like this, too. Like he was a monster of some kind. But frightening her had worked then, and his only hope is that it works just as well now. Brian isn't Cora, not as suggestible, but on the other hand, he doesn't now about wolves so maybe, just maybe....

Brian rises, and Derek is about to beg, increasingly desperate, when pain explodes in his hand when the other teen's booted heel slam onto his fingers with a sickening crack. _Son of a bitch_ , he can't help but think, even through his friend has just done as he asked. Somehow the insult seem to help with the pain.

There isn't words for Derek's relief when he feels his healing kick start, throwing off the last of the paralytic and mending his fingers under a matter of maybe fifteen minutes. He's still so tired he can barely see straight, but at least, he not about to slip into an injuries-induced coma anymore. He sits up slowly, wincing at the aches and pulls of his muscles.

Probably the aftereffects of his last minute teleportation; the healing doesn't work on those. He grimaces again, but in the end, it's not important. He's mobile – mostly, and his ideas are clear enough. That's all he needs right now.

“Your phone”, he asks Brian, and he tries to gentle his tone, but he's so stressed that he seriously doubts it even remotely works. His best friend – and Christ, when did he become so fucked up that he can push his _best friend_ around like this with so little remorse? 

Yes, the ends justify the means here, because there's nothing at this minute he wouldn't do if it means Peter's and the Pack's safety, but still...Pushing the thoughts ruthlessly away, he grabs the extended cell and pushes the number through after a quick glance at the clock. 7:47. He's late, so with luck, Peter will be keeping an eye on his phone.

Derek almost cries in relief when his uncle picks up. “Brian?”, Peter's tone is surprised, and yes, Derek had given him Brian's number, didn't he? “It's not Brian, it's me”, he says urgently, and whatever Peter hears in his tone is enough that his voice has gone alarmed when he answers tensely, “Derek? What's...”, he starts, but the younger wolf cuts him off.

“Get out. All of you, get out of the house, the hunters are coming”. For a second, the silence on the other end is so shocked Derek wonders if Peter is going to believe him, but less than a minute later, there's a crisp, business-like, “Alright. How many...”. That's when he hears the distinctive sound of a window breaking, and Derek's blood chill in his veins.

“Peter, what...”, but Peter simply says, carefully controlled but with way too much calm in his voice, “Don't come to the house, Derek. Get to safety”, which, in their code, means Peter's house, “...and stay out of this”. And the line goes dead after one last, powerful fizz.

For a second, Derek just stays here, shell-shocked, staring dumbly at the phone, and then he snaps out of it and gets to his feet. Or at last he tries to. He stumbles the second he's up, only escaping a fall by catching himself on one of the pool's columns. Damn.

Of course. The adrenalin and the healing may have put him in rather good shape again, he's still running on empty. “I need to eat something”, he mutters, vexed by this additional waste of time. His throat has improved, and his voice echoes almost loudly in the silent of the room. 

He hears a noise akin to a panicked gasp behind him, and turns around, eyes narrowed, to find Brian stepping away from him hurriedly. “What?”, he asks roughly, because he needs to move, and not to tend to the needs of his friend.

“Chickens!” Brian exclaims like he has found the solution to an unsaid riddle, and it's Derek's turn to stare. “What?”, he asks, absolutely dumbfounded. “There's chickens”, Brian repeats insistently, like he didn't hear correctly the first time. “In the kitchens. They've been delivered this evening for tomorrow. I'm pretty sure they're still alive, 'cause they kill them in the morning generally”. 

And yes, Brian's mom works in the cafeteria, but...”What the fuck? Why in heaven's name would I need _chickens_?”. Between his words and the fact he's keeping going backwards, getting dangerously close to the edge of the pool, Derek is beginning to wonder if Brian hasn't lost it a little.

“You can suck them dry. Instead of me”. Derek cocks his head on the side, frowning, trying to decipher the words, and Brian continues as he finally gets it. “You need blood right? So...the chickens? Rather than me, if you can”. 

And that's the last straw. Derek dissolves in hysteric laugher, discharging the pent-up adrenalin and leftovers of fear, almost falling over with the force of it. “Oh, by the moon...” he finally calms down enough to choke out. “You think I'm a _vampire_?”.

Brian blinks. “Yes”, he says slowly, like he's talking to an idiot. “The whole canine thing gives it pretty much away”, he adds with a hint of his old snark, and Derek can't help the fond touch in his tone when he retorts, “Sorry, but you've got your predators confused, man”. And with a parting smirk, he's gone.

Any calm or amusement Derek found in his last exchange with Brian disappear like smoke to the wind the second he's alone, his thoughts instantly turning towards the house. He would give anything to have the strength to teleport, but he's certain he would end up passing out upon arrival, which would be absolutely useless.

He breaks the vending machine in the hall with a vicious surge of satisfaction – the damn thing only serves to take money from new, naives students without ever delivering anything, so he's sure nobody will miss it, anyway. He opens and bites into an energy bar, grabs as much other shit as he can, and flees towards the parking.

Thalia would be scandalized to witness him hijack a car. Doesn't keep him from stealing a black coupé of some sort, probably owned by one of the WASP kids. He needs speed, and they're almost all asses.

Plus, he's pretty sure Peter would smirk at him all the way if he was here.

∼

Derek parks the car just before the preserve entrance. The motor's rather quiet, but not silent enough. And he'll be taking shortcuts that involve jumping over cliffs and ducking branches. The car has done his job, now he'll be quicker on his own.

He slips under the foliage, and begins running steadily, keeping to the shadows. He has barely done two hundred meters when the scent hits him, unmistakable.

Smoke. And with it, another smell, nauseating and acid and weirdly, sickly sweet at the same time, and even through Derek never smelt it before, he recognizes it instantly, instinctively. 

The smell of burned flesh.


	26. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Please forgive how late I am, but I've been rather busy of late. At least, this chapter is, for once, betaed upon being posted, as usual by El!
> 
> Once again, this is a cut off chapter, so we'll speak of the fire again in the next one. Also, I didn't mean for Ethan Hale to take so much place in this chapter, but once he started to take form as more than 'Derek's brother' I couldn't stop, and El encouraged me, so...
> 
> Enjoy, and tell me what you think!

«Mr Hale?». It takes Derek almost a full minute to realize he's the one being addressed. He blinks away images of fire and blood and slashed throats and slowly raises his head. There's a nurse at his side, thirty-something, with black, curly hair and compassionate eyes. _Mc Call_ , her tag reads.

He would probably hate her for the pity on her face if he had the strength. As it is, he simply looks at her without a word, too tired to ask for what she wants. Uninterested. Peter's still in surgery, will be for the rest of the night and longer, so whatever else she has to say isn't of any concern to him, really.

He feels the familiar chill run up his back when the image of Peter's charred body, burned almost beyond all recognition, flashes before his eyes. He briefly digs his nails in his palm, grounding himself, before reporting his attention on the woman. “What?”, he finally says, because the quicker she says whatever it is, the quicker she'll be gone.

She steps closer carefully, like Derek's a dangerous, wounded animal. He suppose he is, in a way. He's sure feeling savage enough; for all his general apathy, the idea of the woman – of anybody – touching him right now makes him want to tear them into pieces. 

He lets his claws bite deeper in the skin of his hands – the pain seems to be the only thing that can ground him at the moment. It's probably not the best way to cope, but as long as he doesn't go on murder spree, Derek considers it the last of two evils. And besides, with the blood all over his hands and person, nobody will notice a little bit more.

They think he got it from trying to help his family – applying pressure on wounds and this kind of things. He heard them speaking about it earlier. An unpleasant smiles twists his lip as Derek wonders what face the nurse would make if she knew he ended that way because he killed at least two people tonight.

The nurses steps forwards again, this time right into Derek's space, and he has to make a conscious effort to not recoil and growl in warning. His wolf is straining against its metaphorical bonds, and it takes almost all he has to keep it down. He hisses a breath between his teeth, giving himself two seconds to close his eyes.

And that...that turns out to be a very bad idea, because the images are jumping up behind his eyelids the second he closes them. _Peter's burns...the first hunter that he gutted from neck to belly in a desperate attempt to protect Ethan...the warm feeling of blood all over his arms and chest, warm even through his shirt..._

Derek's eyes snap open, and he silently swallows, very conscious that his eyes are flaring cold blue, and that only the nurse's position at his left and the fact that his head is bowed allows him to escape questions or a discovery. He lets out a breath and grits his teeth, pushing the wolf down once more.

“..to look at it”, the nurse's voice suddenly cuts in, and Derek whirls round on his chair, on his feet in a instant, barely resisting the urge to claw her extended hand off. He steps back instead, a jerky, tense motion, unsure of what he would do if she was to actually _touch_ him. 

The woman does not understand all the context, of course, but she's certainly smart enough to immediately take a reassuring step back of her own. There's no fear in her scent, through; only worry and always this godamned compassion. “I'm sorry”, she says gently. “I didn't mean to startle you ”.

Her voice his at the same time soothing and unnerving, and Derek fiddles uneasily. His control of the shift is a hair's breath of being completely shoot, and there's nobody he knows here, nobody he can take comfort in. “No”, he finally answers. His voice is rusty, and he clears his throat before continuing. “I am. I...didn't man to react so...violently”.

The nurse smiles. “My name is Melissa. Melissa McCall”. She steps back forwards slowly, and once again, Derek feels like a wild animal you try to calm down and out of biting. “I'd like to take a look at you shoulder. I know you've been treated by the EMT, but it was a rather nasty burn”. Derek turns his head to look down at the mentioned burn.

The wound is still here – of course, since he's keeping it from healing, too fast at least. The skin is almost white, with red, angry-looking blisters almost all over it. Second degree burn, the paramedic said. Derek supposes he should be relived it's not worse. 

The burning girder had fallen from the ceiling as he was teleporting himself and Peter out of the house's inferno, so the wood had simply been in contact with his skin for about half a minute -maybe even less. His broken bones has already healed by the time the EMT had gotten here, but he had to stop the burn's healing to show it the the medic.

And since he's in the hospital now, he can't allow his healing to work normally, or he'll probably end up the one being dissected at the morgue instead of the hunters' bodies. He reports his attention on the nurse and nods slowly. He still doesn't feel like being poked at by anyone, but he can't make a scene either. “Okay”, he finally agrees, if reluctantly.

He's about to partially turn around so she can work when she says, “Maybe we could go in an examination room? It would be calmer”, and Derek's recovered control teeters dangerously for a second. “No”, he answers firmly. He knows she's only trying to help, but he can't move, not when Peter is behind the double doors at his right.

It's not that he believes for a second that he'll be able to see him today, or even tomorrow. The burns were far too severe for that. Peter will probably be in the ICU for a week, or even longer. He knows that. But leaving...it would feel like a betrayal, somehow. Derek's aware he can't do anything, and that staying here without sleep won't help, but...he just needs to stay. 

If he goes, then nobody will stay here in his stead. None of the Hales seem to care enough to even come and see how it's going when Peter got wolfsbane poisoning – the window breaking on the phone had been the first of wolfsbane smoke grenades – and almost was burned to death while getting them out. And yet, none of them are here.

Maybe – probably – they're licking their own wounds, but Derek knows for sure that David, at least, was relatively fine, as was this little shit of John. They could have passed by, just to know, like Derek did before following Peter's scent 'til the ICU's door. But they didn't, and Derek can't...leave Peter alone.

It's a stupid thought, he knows, because Peter's facing...well, maybe not death, but at the very last horrible pain, and the EMT put him under as soon as they could anyway, so it's not like his lover has the ability to give a shit whether Derek's here or not. But still...he doesn't want to go, not now, and he says so to the nurse, ready for a fight.

At his surprise, she instantly relents, and says she's going to get bandages and antiseptic cream before hurrying off. 

Derek stares at her back for a second, a bit taken aback by the lack of protestations, before sitting back down with an exhausted sigh. It's probably a good thing the adrenalin isn't wearing off yet, because he would probably have crashed hard by now. Instead, he's on the very edge between man and wolf, tense and wary of everything and everyone. 

He rubs his temples, remembering the feeling of Peter's hands on his skin, untwisting muscles and working out knots, and feels a part his tension decrease slowly. Good. The feeling is only a temporary anchor at best, but it's better than nothing in his state. Jesus. 

He'll either get out of this with iron brand control over the shift, or no control at all.

He scoffs at the thought but a small smile still comes to float on his lips. Control is what most wolves his age aim at, and most of them are _bad_ at it – and as for him or the Pack, his Father's brand of rules have their effect, in the end. But point is, the fact that out of all this shit, he'll maybe manage to obtain perfect control, exactly at the moment it becomes the last thing on his mind...Oh, the irony.

Derek shakes his head ruefully. Priorities, huh...well, his seem to have gotten on one hell of a rollercaster two months ago, and apparently, they intend to stay here for a while. Not that he minds, because right now, the only thing that matters is Peter. And the Pack, a bit, but mostly Peter. Even through he can't help in any way at the moment.

And back in a circle. He sighs, and when the nurse returns, Derek is almost content to see her. At last, when she'll be prodding at the burn, he'll probably be too distracted by the pain to think about anything else.

He turns to show her his back before she can ask, since most of the damage is situated at the very edge behind his shoulder, where it merges into his upper back. He'd instinctively tried to protect Peter when the burning wood had fallen, by putting himself over his lover. Result being the back of his shoulder and part of his neck fiercely burned, and a more light burn on arm, just above the elbow.

Nothing much. It hurts, sure – rather a lot, actually. And even at full healing power, the burns, even superficial, are surprisingly slow to disappear. But it's nothing next to what Peter must be feeling. Derek can't even imagine the agony he's probably in without feeling ill. First the ankle, and know _that_.

Even through he knows Peter would be very displeased by this conclusion, Derek can't help but to think it's fault. Partially, at least. Because, yeah, sure, it's not like he gave his family's secrets away – and thank God for that, for Peter, because if he _had_ fallen for Kate...he couldn't have lived with the guilt. Never.

It didn't go that far, obviously, but fact is, Peter was and stayed in BC because – and for – Derek. If it hadn't been for him...well his lover wouldn't be in the ICU right now. Among other things. He hears the sudden, unexpected clink of scissors, and it's enough to make him forget all about guilt in favor of snapping his head around.

The nurse notices the swift move and she stops in her careful cutting of his shirt. Derek frowns. “The EMT already cut what tissue was stuck on the wound” he remarks, and she nods in agreement. “Yes, and they did a good job under the circumstances. But considering how busy they were with...”. She trails off, visibly uneasy when she remembers who she's talking to.

Derek summons the will to smile reassuringly at her, just a little. He doesn't need any gentle drop-in into the fact that his uncle's state is alarming; he was the one to get him to the medics, so he had all the time necessary to notice how badly Peter had been hurt.

“Sorry”, she murmurs, before clearing her throat and continuing, assessment sure and firm once more as she falls back into her medical knowledge. “It was a good job, as I said. But burns are one of the most delicate and longest wounds for the body to heal. I just want to make sure you're not facing infection or fever, and see how the burn looks”. Her lips twitch. “And your shirt is in the way”, she adds with a grin.

Derek can't help his light chuckle. He likes her, he decides. She gentle and business-like at the same time, and she proved she has good instincts and a sense of humor. He relaxes just a bit more and tilts his head down again so she has the place to work. A piece of the shirt fall on the floor soon after.

“I hope the hospital's paying for that”, he comments amusedly, surprising himself with the witty rejoinder. He instantly feels guilt creeping back up on him. Peter's in the ICU and he's joking with his nurse. He clicks his tongue at himself, lips thinning. _Really, Derek? Want to flirt with her, too, since you're here? It ended up so well with Kate, after all._

He clenches his teeth and turns his head away, back to staring at the ICU's door, all thoughts of lightness abandoned.

With nothing else to do, he remembers.

∼

_Derek stamps down ruthelessly on the instinct to start to run without thinking, and to get to the house as quickly as he can. He needs to be sensitive about this. Getting killed because he stupidly rushed in won't help anyone._

_He takes a deep breath – forcing himself to ignore the nauseating scent still permating the air - and begins to run again, at a steady pace. While approching the house – from the west, because it's the most hidden yet short path he can think of at the moment – he tries to imagine what he will find from a purely strategic point of view._

_Chasing away the panicked thoughts of family and Pack and Peter, Derek concentrates on what matters the most. The Hunters. They obviously hid their scents somehow, because there's no way the olders wolves wouldn't have noticed them otherwise. It's actually not that difficult to do. Mostly, it's a question of keeping the wind towards you all the time._

_So, the Pack didn't felt them coming, because the wind wasn't blowing towards the house. But considering Derek is arriving more or less by the same way the Hunters did, he should be able to...Yes. Here, wolfsbane and gun oil and metal, an unmistakable mix that screams “hunter” to anybody paying attention._

_In fact, Derek notices as he begins to follows the trail, it's surprisingly faint, and he can think of only one explanation for it: the Hunters didn't just attacked suddenly tonight. They were in ambush long before that, probably making sure every Hale was here in the house._

_Except for him, of course, since he's meant to be a floating corpse right now. Well. He's going to show them. The best point in all of this is that he had the time to warn them. A bit late, but still. Werewolves react fast. Very fast. And Peter is the best fighter he knows; plus his Father – asshole he may be, but he's still Alpha. And they were nine adults wolves in here. Derek doesn't think for a second they would have gottten down without one hell of a fight._

_The youngs, however...he closes his eyes and forces himself to calm down. He's about to step in the middle of a battle, so this is not the moment to lose his cool. And as inexperienced as they may be, the young ones practically grew up in these woods, just like him. Maybe they can't fight, but they sure know how to hide._

_Nodding fiercely, like he can make it true by simply believing it hard enough, he's about to continue on his way when he hears the distinct shuffle of a fight somewhere away on his left. It's far, far enough that he can't say if it's an adult or not, and he hesitates. If it's an adult, they doesn't need Derek, not really. But if it's Ethan or John, or worse, Mary..._

_With a silent curse, Derek deviates from the trail and takes off, running in earnest but still managing to keep his footing eerie silent. It takes him about ten minutes to reach the fight scene – following sounds is a lot more difficult than following a scent._

_He slows down, slipping between trees, letting his ears guide him. The combattants are surprisingly silent as they fight, but Derek supposes that both sides are trying to not attract the attention of more wolves for one or hunters for the other. A sharp cry of pain suddely pierces through the air, and Derek feels the hair on his neck suddenly stand up._

_The voice was unmistakably young, masculine and...Ethan's. Shit! Derek curses all he knows while the pained grunts of his brother resonate in the night. At last now the sounds are easy enough to follow. He ducks under one last, big, branch, and finds himself a the very egde of a clearing, a few meters away from a Hunter pointing a gun down on the bloody shape of one Ethan Hale._

_His young brother eyes widen when he sees him, and sadly, the Hunter notices it immediately. He rises his head, aims without pause...and wavers. The shock – to see Derek alive, maybe - only paralyses him a second, but it's enough. Derek isn't as fast as Peter, but he's fast enough._

_He ducks the bullet, rolls forwards and finds himself standing right into the Hunter's space. The man jerks back, one hand going to grab something behind his back – knife, or another gun, Derek doesn't know, and he doesn't leave him the time to do it._

_He hits the man's defensless throat in a splatter of blood, and pushed by rage and instinct, brings his claws forcefully down in a vertical slash, breaking bones easily and gutting the man like he's no more than a fish. He feels blood fall all over him, warm and sticky, but he doesn't care, no when he almost lost a family member because of him._

_The body fall the the ground with a soft tud, but Derek doesn't pay attention to the corpse or the growing pool of blood. He already has turned towards Ethan who's struggling to rise despite the mess of his right leg. Derek steps forwards to put a hand on his brother's shouler, keeping him from falling over._

_He's expecting a recoil – he's covered in blood, and he just killed a man in front of the kid, after all, but Ethan sags against him with a broken, muffled sob, clinging to Derek's drenched shirt for dear life. “He tried...they all...they attacked us...” he chokes it out disbelievingly, and he's starting to shake all over. Derek sighs and slips a careful arm around the young's shoulders._

_“I know”, he murmurs. “I know. But you're safe, now”. For all the warmth and reassurance in his voice, his eyes are already turned towards the path to the house. He doesn't have much time to give to Ethan, even if he's aware of how traumatised the kid must be. He gives a gentle squeeze to his brother's shoulders, enough to get his attention._

_“Look, I...”. He hesitates. The idea of leaving Ethan alone here, when he's visibly already terrified, is just horrible, but what can he do? Each second Derek passes here is a second during which a member of his family – Peter, his minds trums incessantly – could be killed._

_He opens his mouth, trying to finds the words to gentle what he's going to say, when Ethan steps back from him and rub his tears away before raising his head, eyes serious even if his shaking has barely subsided. “I know”, he says, and he manages to sound surprisingly composed. “You need to go. It's okay”. It's impressive, really._

_“What about you?”.Derek can't help but ask. He may need to be going, but he's not leaving his brother here at the mercy of any Hunter passing through. Ethan smiles grimly. “I know where to go. I'll join the others; we have a place to hide”. His eyes stray towards the Hunter's body, and he shivers. “He just appeared out of nowhere and I wasn't fast enough to flee”._

_The young wolf rips his eyes from the huddled, bloody mass on the forest floor to look at Derek, right in the eyes. “I'll be fine”, he assures, shoulders squared, visibly gathering his courage. “Go. They need you”. Derek can't help his smile. He's not part of the Pack anymore, but it doesn't change the fact that Ethan's assurance, even as brittle as it is, fills him with pride._

_“Okay”, he nods. He's not going to insult his brother's vaillance by insiting. And he's right anyway, Derek does need to get going. “You know to not get out from you hiding place without one of the Pack coming for you, yes?”. Ethan nods in turn, and Derek's about to leave, when the young grabs his arm._

_“It's besides the river, where we...you...at the place where you had a fight with Laura. After the big pine besides the cliff, there's a small path between the rocks. It's down there”. Derek blinks, surprised that Ethan would volonteer the information. It's a sign of trust he wouldn't have expected from any of the Hales, and even less from one so young._

_But maybe he needs to remember, too, that being son of the Alpha doesn't have to mean follow him blindly. Peter and him aren't the only ones who can think differently – nor the only ones to have the courage to speak their minds. He presses a hand on Ethan's shoulder. “Thank you”._

_Ethan swallows but he sums up a hard smile, and retorts, “Go. And kill them all for me”. His eyes are fierce, rage and desire for blood dancing into the supernatural yellow of his iris. Derek grins right back, letting his teeth sharpen into wicked fangs._

_“Oh, trust me, I intend to”._

∼

The well-know scent hits Derek nose about the same time the nurse puts the compress on his shoulder. “Here. I believe we're done”. She sounds satisfied, but she doessn't try for the false cheerfulness like some of her collegues, and Derek is thankful for it. “Thanks”, he says with a true, albeit thin, smile. She nods and smiles back. She's opening her mouth to add something when her beeper ring briefly. She grimaces, but takes a quick look at it and frowns. “Sorry, sounds like they really need me. I'll send one of my collegue with a sweater, alright?”.

But Derek shakes his head. “Not necessary”, he answers and musters a tired grin over the nurse's shoulder. “My savior is here”. McCall draws a surprised eyebrow and turns around. “Oh”, she says Her eyes quickly scan between the two of them.”Your brother, I presume?”. 

Derek hums affirmatively. “Nurse McCall, this is Ethan Hale. Ethan, my nurse, Melissa McCall”. Ethan inclines his head a bit warily, and frankly Derek can't blame him for his momentarly lack of manners, not when he had almost ripped off the woman's hand. The poor kid has to be even more of a mess than Derek himself.

“Pleased to meet you”, MacCall says, like jumpy, tense twelve year-olds are something she deals with every day. Ethan blinks, apparently a bit throw off by the gentle welcome, and his eyes search Derek's for reassurance before he answers slowly, “You too”.

The nurse's beeper rings again, and McCall sends Derek a sorry glance. “I have to go. Will you two be alright on your own?”. “Of course”, Derek answers, trying on his best 'I'm a responsible big brother' voice. “No problem”. This tone never worked especially well on Thalia, but McCall seems to by satisfied with it, because she swiftly departs after one last comment about the vending and coffee machines being on the third floor.

It's only once she's gone that Ethan seems to marginally unfreeze, shuffling uneasily about, visibly unsure about his welcome now that's there's no witnesses. Derek closes his eyes a second before deciding he doesn't have the energy to play hesitant strangers. “Come here”, he murmurs, and Ethan doesn't hesitate, climbing on the plastic chair next to Derek's.

“I brought that”, he says, and extends the sweater. “They wanted to give to me, but I'm not cold”. Derek hums again, feeling tired, and shrugs the cloth on without any fuss. He's litterally swimming in it; clearly it was meant for somebody a lot bigger than him, but he guesses the hospital doesn't bother with sizes, not when the goal is heat.

He feels a pleasant shivers slid up his back now that he's covered, and a part of the tension thruming under his skin subsides. At his side, Ethan's shoulders loosen a little, too. He's still dressed in his own wool V-neck shirt, but the pants are apparently hospital-given, too, if the antisceptic scent clinging to it is any indication.

“How's your leg?”, he asks, and Ethan shrugs. “Fine. It had the time to heal while we were hiding. Just a bruise left'”. The young wolf swallows convulsively, looking at the ICU's doors, before asking softly, like he's not sure how Derek's going to react to the query. “How's Peter?”.

Derek opens his mouth on an automatic 'fine', but it's bullshit and he doesn't want to lie to the only other person except him that seems to care. “Bad”, he finally admits. “Real bad. But he's a fighter. He's going to be okay”. Ethan rises his head, eyes suddely overly bright. “Yeah?”.

“Yeah”. Derek doesn't know who he's trying to convince. But it's not working very well either way.


	27. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And chapter 26 already. What can I say, I was inspired. But the swiftness of the update also means that El only checked the chapter quickly for glaring mistakes. She'll do a more serious once-over a bit later.
> 
> Again, Ethan wasn't really meant to take so much place, but I'm beginning to like the kid, in the end^^. So, this chapter is again a cut off one; the last about the fire will be in the next, even if the most of it is in there.
> 
> Enjoy, and tell me what you think!

«...should be speaking with your father, Mr Hale».

Derek takes a deep breath and firmly reminds himself that tearing the surgeon's face off isn't the thing to do, for Peter's sake if nothing else. The man may still be useful to his lover for the foreseeable future.

Ethan doesn't seem to share this vision, however, because he's growling steadily, a sub-vocalised sound too low for human ears, but that isn't calming Derek's already frayed nerves in any way. He gets it, since he's halfway here himself, but that's kind of the point: he's having enough trouble keeping his calm as it is, so Ethan's anger isn't exactly welcome at the moment.

He steps back imperceptibly, crushing his brother's foot mercilessly, without breaking eye contact with the doctor. “I'm family, and over eighteen”, he grinds out between fury-clenchend teeth, “And I want news about my uncle”. His tone is omnious, low and threatening, a warning rumble more than anything else.

He sees the brief flash of doubt in the older man's eyes, and he mentally slaps himself. This isn't the moment to get escorted out – no matter how pleasant the idea of punching the guy in the face may be. _Control, Derek_ , he mentally chants. _Keep control. This is too important to fuck it up_.

“Look”, he tries again, tone more even. “I'm not asking you for a full report, or anything. I just...want to know how is he, and what pronostic you have”. The surgeon opens his mouth, frowing, refusal already etched on his face, and the last of Derek's patience slips away too quickly for him to even try and cling to it.

He feels Ethan grab his wrist in a vice-like grip – which is a very good thing, because Derek suspects he was about to lose all mesure and slam the man against the nearest wall. “It won't even take you ten minutes”, he spits, rage churning in his stomach and God, he's going to rip the guy's head off, he swears. “Five minutes of you precious time, that's all I'm asking! It's my...uncle, dammit!”.

The sudden, almost-slip of 'lover' is enough of a wake up call that he manages to reign himself in, barely. The surgeon, who is an innommable asshole but apparently not a complete moron, has stepped back, alarm on his face. “Now, Mr Hale, you're going to calm down, or I'll have to call security. I understand your grief...”.

It feels like a punch in the gut – horrible, unescapable and heart-wrenching - because 'grief' would imply that Peter is...Behind him, he vaguely hears Ethan make a broken sound, stumbling back into the chair he'd risen from earlier, but Derek isn't really registering anything beyond the terrifying reality of the words.

He feels something in him break, shriveling and dying in the space of a heartbeat, and in this eternity-long second he understands three things. 

The first is that he loves Peter more than he ever thought possible. 

The second, that he's going to kill every single Hunter in Beacon Hills, and then every other left anywhere he hunts them down to.

And the thrid...his control just shattered, very probably beyond any repair, not that he gives a shit. 

He's about to pounce and run – where to, he's not sure, but he'll certainly find a Hunter's trail to follow once he'll be out of the hospital – when his whole body seems to suddenly lock on itself, every limb paralysed with a painful jolt, leaving him no option but to fall head-first on the floor.

His skull hits the ground with an alarming crack, and just before unconscioussness englufs him, he rises his eyes to see an unfamilar man in his thirties with shoulder-long black hair bending over him, and just behind the man's shoulder, two pairs of red eyes. One is his Father, and the other...

He ultimately recognizes the red hair of Logan, the Alpha of the Callen Pack, as his eyelids finally fall shut.

∼

_Derek is running, at full speed and without paying any attention to keeping silent, this time. The battle is in full swing – the scent of blood, Hunter's and wolf's, and the almost overwhelming stench of wolfsbane make it all too clear._

_Now is not the time for careful strategies. Not anymore._

_He jumps in the clearing where the Hale house stands, glowing red and orange in the flame like some gigantic pyre, and slashes through the nape of the first Hunter he sees without any form of warning and no guilt about it whatsoever. Peter was right. It's kill or be killed, and in the end, Derek doesn't have any remorse about making sure the ones getting down are his ennemies._

_Maybe it will come later, but at the moment, he doesn't stop to think about it. Not that he has the time for introspection either, because the Hunters are already adapting to his sudden arrival, four of them moving his his direction with grim faces and hatred in their eyes – either for their fallen comrade, or at Derek's wolf out. Probably both._

_He shows his teeth with a growl, looking every inch the unthinking, instinct-driven beast, while he quickly take a view at the men's weapons. One gun, but mostly knifes and twin daggers. They probably spent most of their bullets already._

_Doesn't mean it helps Derek's case much, because baldes make hand to hand dangerous, and he doesn't doubt for a second that these ones have been lovingly coated in some wolfsbane-based solution. Even a simple slash will mean the end, for the poison will make him too weak to fight back._

_They're proceeding methodically, too, closing in on him in some kind of circle, slowly, leaving him with no other exit than the forest path from which he came from. Derek steps back carefully, trying to find a flaw in the formation, but they're very much ready to cover each other._

_He's fast enough to get one of them, maybe wound another...but in the end, he'll be struck down, and for what? Two, maybe three causalities. Useless. And they know it as surely as him, because the savage grins etched on their faces are rather meaningful._

_Derek's lips thin. He hoped to not have to get here, and especially not so soon. But, well, in case of life or death situation..._

_He takes a mesured breath and lets it out, fixing his attention firmly behind the two Hunters coming at his left, centring on a point barely one meter away from their backs. He waits for the the sound of the gun being armed, gives it two more seconds...and pushes, hoping this won't turn against him and leave him exhausted._

_But the adrenaline and the instinct did their jobs well, because the only thing he feels when he remateralizes behind the two men is a vicious surge of satisfaction. At the two Hunters falling with their throats open from behind, of course...as well as at the sudden – and very convincing - cry of pain from Hunter number 3, who just got the bullet meant for Derek in the stomach._

_This one's for Ethan, he thinks fiercely with a perverse sense of revenge. The last Hunter lets go of his weapon brutally – no bullets left, then - and reaches for a long, curved-looking knife from the sheath strapped to his shoulder. He slips in guard...and jumps at Derek._

_Or, more accurately he tries to. Derek's already preparing to dodge on the side when a mass of growling fangs and claws and flowing brown hair suddenly hits the Hunter from nowhere, with enough force to send him into the nearest tree with a sickening crack. He doesn't rise, but somehow Derek isn't surprised._

_He, however, rises a grudgingly impressed eyebrow at his sister. Between her speed, her strength and the way her eyes are glowing a wild, merciless red in the middle of her bruised face, Laura makes quite the sriking image. “Nice one, Sis”, he comments appreciatively and Laura's lips definitely twitch for a second._

_A second is all they're given, through, because two more Hunters are coming their way, and these ones seem to have long distance rifles, and in fonctionnal order, too. Derek curses, jerking back on instinct, even through he kowns it's probably too late. He'll evade a mortal hit, certainly, but he won't escape it completely. And a graze is all it takes._

_Or it would have, if the bullet had hit. As it is, the shot goes wide, thanks to Thalia and David appearing out of nowhere and throwing themselves at the Hunters, whose long-range weapons aren't suited for any form of hand-to-hand, much less with werewolves.With the advantage of surprise and enhanced reflexes, they make short work of their adversaries._

_Derek turns around, fearing another assault, but there's no need. Most of the Hunters are dead, blood turning the grass a vivid red, shimmering with orange hues with the flames' reflection. The few still fighting – about four – can only count on their blades, and fighting a werewolf at close range is never a good idea._

_But again, Derek muses, the mission was, theoretically, to burn everybody alonside the house. There wasn't any assault programmed, so the Hunters were underprepared for a retaliation – a mistake they just payed with their lives.While looking at Marie's end of fight, Derek considers inwardly that, other than the poor preparation, the Hunter's plan had quite another flaw._

_After all, what kept the Pack in the house? It seems foolish that the Hunters would come and try to burn them without having a mean to make sure the wolvles would be trapped inside. In fact, Derek thinks with alarm, it makes no sense. He's missing something, here._

_He turns to tap Laura on the shoulder. “Hey, how did you get out of the house? Why didn't they kept you trapped inside with...”. A horrible explanation flashes in his mind, and Derek swallows. “...wolfsbane”, he ends on a suddenly tense voice, dread polling in his stomach and squeezing his chest._

_Laura's face twist into...something, guilt and anger and just a bit of sadness, and Derek whirls round to look at every face around him without waiting for an answer. Laura's just here. David, and Thalia and James on his left, Marie, more far away, but coming towards them too._

_But nowhere in this battlefield he can see...he thinks back on the smell of burned flesh and terror almost chokes him. He grabs his sister's arm, tight to the point of being hurtful, bones grinding together._

_“Where is Peter?”_

∼

Derek starles awake, his wolf leaping instantly at the forefront, allowing him to take his environnement in a heartbeat. He's still in the hospital, but the sounds are muted enough that he can deduce he's in a separate room, probably with the door closed.

Nobody he knows around, even if there's definitely passage in the corridor. He slowly gets up on a elbow, grimacing when his head throbs rather vigorously in protest. He presses careful fingers on his temple and finds it covered in dried blood. What the fuck?

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and rises, trying to get his ideas in order. There was the surgeon's words, when said that Peter...and Derek momentarly stumbles back against the bed, feeling his breathing hitch into something horribly close to a sob. _Not now_ , he thinks fiercely, eyes clenched shut on tears. _Later. Later you'll cry. But not now_.

After a few repetitions, he finally manages to calm down that he can take a shuddering but soothing breath, even if the thightness on his throat doesn't seem ready to disappear. Alright. Alright, so...after that. He...was ready to get out of the hospital without thinking, his control in tatters, with only his instinct to guide him, half-mad with rage and grief.

And then...then he had fallen on the ground, hard, paralysed from head to toe. He remembers the inescapable, invisible binds, any panic he could have felt mostly drowned out by the pain in his head and the unconsciousness, overwhelming him slowly but surely. He can still see the stranger face, expression impassive and disinterested, eyes awfully cold.

Who was he? And, if, as Derek thinks, he's the one responsible for his paralysis earlier, then is he Gifted? Or has been Derek only injected with something? He didn't feel anything close to the sting of a needle, but in his state he wouldn't have felt much anyway. Still, he'd say Gifted, except...

Except Logan was here, and the Callen Pack is known for its radical rules about Gifted. Peter – and simply saying the name derails every line of thinking, makes Derek want to curl into a ball and go to sleep and never wake up again. He takes a breath and forces himself to center his reasoning beyond his grief. It's not the moment. He needs to determine if he's in danger here, and if he needs to teleport away.

So Peter had explained, when they were back form the tomb, that, even through he didn't have any proof, he believed the Callens, known for their ruthlessness, were more logical candidates for the extermination of Omegas than the Hales, who always had been more mild – they tended to prefer exiling to killing.

To see the Callen Alpha with a Gifted in tow seems highly improbable – but Derek has been getting used to weirder and weirder situations, these days. He hesitates. From a purely logical point of view, he should simply get out of here. No need to think twice about it. 

He doesn't owe anything to the Hales, much less to the Callens, and...well...he was here for Peter, and Peter is...anyways. Point is, he has no reason to stay.

He can feel his teleportation, coiled like a lazy snake deep in his chest, ready to surge up at moment's notice. And why not? He's fine, almost fully healed, and he only has to appear as far as the parking. From there he steals a car, and he can be at the frontier of the state in maybe two days, if he push beyond the speed limits.

Derek gives it a minute more, but in the end, he already knows what he's going to do. He doesn't have anything left in BC, no Pack, and no friends. Not really. The only one Derek will be remotely sorry to leave behind will be Ethan, but the kid's better off with a stable Pack than with a Gifted Omega hell bent on a Hunter hunt.

He nods to himself, feeling suddenly better – taking a decision rather than thinking in endless rounds sets a purpose, gives him a goal in both short and long terms, and it just feels good to know what he's going to do next.

He grabs the sweater from the back of the nearest chair, shrugs it on, and takes one last survey of the room, to make sure he's not forgetting anything. Not, he thinks with a better irony, that he has anything left to forget, between his house being burned down and his family who'd thrown him out. 

He briefly thinks about unchecking according to the rules, but in the end it doesn't matter. Let the Hales explain his sudden disppearance to the hospital staff and the police. It'll probably be fun, actually, pity he won't be here to witness it. With a smile playing on his lips, he closes his eyes, gathers his will...

“Derek?”. The voice comes from behind the door, low and hesitant, like its owner doesn't know if he can get in, and Derek curses inwardly. He can still teleport away, but Ethan already knows he's awake, and...his brother trusted him in the forest and came to him earlier - came for Peter – even through he knew the Pack would disapprove. He just can't let the kid down now and uncaringly flee right under his nose.

“Get in”, he answers with a pained sigh, and Ethan pokes his head inside, looking a bit unsure. But when he notices Derek's up, he steps into the room, with a honest, wide grin. “You're finally awake!”. Ethan seems to forget anything about tension and he steps up to his brother for a surprisingly thight hug. 

Derek's eyebrows rise at the sudden demonstration of affection, but he hugs back quickly – there's something very soothing about Ethan's scent filling his nose, something that makes the painful thrum of _Peter, Peter, Peter_ in his thoughts subside a little. Ethan finally steps back, and Derek has a sense of dejà-vu – it's exactly how they separated in the forest.

But this time there's no tears in Ethan's face. In fact, he looks mostly relived, like he throught Derek would be gone or something. Derek inwardly grimaces when he thinks that, had his brother come a minute later, he would have found exactly what he feared. “What do you mean, finally?”, he asks to put his feeling of creeping guilt behind him.

Ethan's lips thin, and a flash of anger passes on his face. “You hit you head pretty heard”, he mutters. “And Logan's Second, he said that what he had done to you would interfere with your healing”. He sounds incredibly indigned on Derek's behalf, and the older wolf can't help but smile. He's not sure what he did to earn Ethan's loyalty, but it's here to stay, apprently.

“And where are they, now? Logan and his Second, I mean”. Ethan shrugs, looking uninterested. “They left, I think. I didn't see them again”. He doesn't seem to get the implications of a Gifted in the Callen Pack, or what kind of betrayal it is to see his Father call on another Gifted while he threw Derek out for that very reason. But again, for all his maturity, the kid's twelve.

But anyways, Derek obtained the information he wanted: the Gifted isn't here to stop him anymore. Good. So he doesn't have to fear an interruption from anyone. As soon as he manages to get Ethan out of the room, he's out. “Look”, he starts, “My head still hurting a bit. Do you think you could find me water?”.

Derek carefully doesn't point out that there's a tiny bathroom in the actual room, and Ethan apparently doesn't notice – or he puts the overlook on the account of Derek's head wound. Either way, he nods. “Sure. I'll find a vending machine”.

Derek thanks a God he doesn't believe in that he's sitting when Ethan ends with, “And we'll speak of Peter. The doctor says he's stable but...well. I'll tell you then”. And he gets out, without any idea he just turned everything Derek throught on its head.

∼

_“Where is he?”_

_Laura averts her eyes for a second, and then she looks back at him, and she says. “He was...is...in the house”. Derek feels the blood drain from his face. “I'm sorry, Derek”._

_Derek doesn't pay any attention to her apologies, sincere or not, or at her explanations. The few words he's catching here and here are enough. He has a good idea of what happened: the Hunters did, in fact, put a tight ring of wolfsbane around the house._

_And Peter took control of one of them, without a doubt, in order to make him break the circle, allowing the Pack to get out. But why didn't he got out himself? He's not like Derek, he doesn't get weak from using his Gift – the barman in the nightclub was proof enough of that. So why?_

_“Why didn't he get out, too?” . He asks it out loud without meaning to. To his surprise, Marie steps at his side. “The wolfsbane fumes, I believe. He briefly seemed to freeze, just before David told us the ash circle had just broken, and he inhaled them too long, I suppose”. She looks at him with interest. “It is his gift then? Wolfsbane control?”._

_Derek doesn't bother with an answer, mind whirling at full speed. Does Peter stop moving when he uses his Gift? He doesn't know. He doesn't know, but it's a plausible explanation for the current situation, and that's more than enough for him.”Where was he?”, he asks to no-one in particular._

_Marie frowns. “You can't think of going in there, it's...”. Derek cuts her off, showing his teeth. “Where?”, he hisses, danger and venom pouring from the single syllabe. “The basement”, Laura finally says, looking torn between anger and pity. “But Derek, you can't go there. You won't even be able to get in, anyway!”._

_And Derek, Derek smiles, creppy and victorious and full of challenge. “Watch me”, he retorts, and the air seems to shimmer and distort for a second, and under the shocked stares of the Pack, Derek suddenly vanishes._

∼

Derek tugs his knees close to his chest, chin propped on them, not caring that he's probably putting mud and leaves all over the sheets. He's too busy thinking, torn between suffocating hope and a shard of logic that murmurs to him to not start believing. And yet...even with the severity of his burns, Peter is a werewolf, and his healing abilities are far beyond anything human.

Objectively, he does have a chance to survive this, where an human probably wouldn't even have made to the hospital, so...it is possible that he's still alive, that Derek...What? Misinterpreted the surgeon's meaning? He closes his eyes, trying to recall the exact wording. _I understand your grief, but..._

For Derek, 'grief' is synonym of mourning and death. But maybe, he just heard what he half-expected to, jumping to conclusions too fast? If doctor didn't meant it that way – it's a possibility. Maybe he just meant he understood Derek's fear driven reaction. And if it's that...if it's just a misunderstanding...Then Peter is alive.

Derek clenches his teeth and gets on his feet. Only one way to be sure, even if he's terrified to actually see the little shard of hope in his chest shattered the second he'll actually get to the ICU. But he won't be a coward in this. He doesn't have the right. 

He makes his way to the door, shoulders set, determined to find out the truth. And that starts by grilling the just arriving Ethan on everything he knows. He opens the door and his brother sumbles back at the abrupt movement. 

Derek doesn't know exactly what expression he's wearing, but i'st enough to make Ethan step back once more. “Derek?” he asks cautiously. “What's wrong?”. Derek steps into the corridor, spots a sign pointing to the elevator, and starts to walk, jerking his head to Ethan in a mute invitation to follow.

“You said you'd tell me what you know about Peter's condition”. He looks sideways to his brother, who looks stricken and almost afraid of what news he can bring. He's fiddling this the water bottle in his hands, and Derek sighs before stopping.

“Look, I'm not expecting good news, alright? I'm no fool. But I thought...”.Derek takes a breath and decides to simply get out with it. “I thought he was dead, Ethan. So let me tell you, any news, no matter how dire, are better than that”.

Ethan's eyes widen. “You...that's why you...”. He seems to be searching a diplomatic way to say it, and Derek takes pity on him. “Gone batshit rogue at the time? Yeah”. Ethan flushes. “I wouldn't have said that”, he mumbles inconvincingly, and Derek rolls his eyes, but doesn't comment. Instead, he gets the conversation back on the main topic. “So, Peter. What can you tell me?”.

He has started to walk again, and Ethan follows, biting his lip. “Go ahead”, Derek encourages him. “Okay...so they said he's stable, and there's no fever or infection. But they still put him in...well some kind of special chamber, so he's not exposed to viruses. I think?”. He ends it in question more than affirmation, and Derek hums thoughtfully.

“Make sense. Severly burned people have bigger risk of viral infections, so they often place them in sterile environnement”. Upon seeing the surprised expression on Ethan's face, he shrugs. “Third year, chemical burns. It was Harris new favorite subject. Never thought I'd be even remotely grateful to the asshole”.

Derek taps the call button of the lift. “What else?”. Ethan opens his mouth, then closes it. “It's...I'm sorry, I didn't really understand the rest”, he finally admits, almost looking ashamed about it. Like following the start and basics of a medical conversation isn't already damn impressive for a twelve years old.

“S'okay”, Derek puts a reassuring arm around his soulders, steering him into the waiting elevator. He stares at the numbers passing before his eyes as the lift ascent to the fourth floor without really seeing them, dread and anticipation coiling in his stomach. Ethan told him what he knew, and for the rest...

He's going to find out soon enough anyway.


	28. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my friends, we're hitting the end of the end as far as the first arc is concerned. One epilogue left to go, and Disturbia will be over.  
> I have to say, I'm both surprised and pleased with myself; I never, ever thought I 'd be able to write so much in english - but it was very enjoyable for me, and, I hope, for you as well.
> 
> The next installement, The Scars we Earned, will be definitely be out...later- I rather not give a precise date since I'm a bit hetic with schedules, as you well know.
> 
> But for the moment, enjoy this chapter, and as usual, tell me what you think^^!

 

Derek's about to step out from the elevator when he notices Ethan's slight flinch. He frowns. “You okay?”. The young wolf's eyes snap to his immediately, full of guilt, even through he protests adamantly, if feverishly, “Yes. Of course. It's...I'm fine”. The words are piling on each other, just short of babbling, and Derek slowly rises a very inconvinced eyebrow.

That's all it takes for Ethan to avert his eyes and swallow nervously. “I'm sorry”, he finally says, sounding way too close to tears for Derek's comfort. “I'm sorry, I...I don't want to see him”. And then he seems to realize how that just sounded, and his face twists into the perfect image of panicked backpedal.

“I mean...I don't mean...I want to see him, but it's...”. _Probably too horrible to witness for you_ , Derek mentally ends easily, shaking his head at his own stupidity. He really needs to remember that under his composed personnality, the kid is twelve. What kind of brother is he, to be ready to drag Ethan in front of a man half-burned to death without even stopping to think of the impact on him?

 _Brainless moron_ , he inwardly hisses at himself before saying out loud,“You can stay here if you wish, it's no problem. I'm sorry, I didn't think. I should have asked you how you felt about seeing Peter”. But his reassurances doesn't seem to have much of an impact on Ethan; he still looks like he's half-crushed by guilt.

Derek grimaces. This really isn't his thing. “I get it. I do”, he insists softly, putting a hand on Ethan's shoulder. “I don't want to see him like this, either, you know. It'll probably be painful, and very ugly, and I swear, I understand why you don't want to see that”.

He squeezes his brother's shoulder but stays silent until the young wolf finally rises his head. “I know Peter. Better than you, and probably better than many in the Pack”. Derek states the words as what they are: plain fact, tone gentle but full of quiet confidence. “And I know him enough to be sure he would never hold it against you if you chose to stay here”.

Ethan bits his lip, visibly wavering, and Derek knows how he wants the balance to tilt. The kid saw enough gruesome scenes as it, so Derek adds firmly, “There's no shame in staying, Ethan. And it doesn't mean you don't care – you came earlier, and that is what matters, okay?”. He waits patiently until the young nods.

“Good. Now – and no matter what you answer, I want you to know, it won't change anything about the way I see you. Do you want to come with me?”.

Mostly, Derek would prefer for Ethan to stay here, but after all he's been through, coddling him now would be as ridiculous as it would be unhelpful. His brother has largely proved he has quite the head on his shoulders, so it's up to him. Ethan's eyes stray briefly towards the ICU's door, but in the end, he shakes his head. “I don't...I'm sorry, I can't”. 

Derek nods – both with relief and acceptance. “Alright. I'll go then. Do you need anything before I leave?”. Ethan's lips thin, like he's regretting his decision, but he doesn't try to argue.

“No. Just...You'll tell me, right? How he's doing, and all...I mean...”. “I'll tell you the news, of course”, Derek promises. “Okay”. The decided look from the forest comes over Ethan's face, and his shoulders straighten. “Go then. I'll be fine”. Derek emits a sound of agreement and turns around towards the ICU's door before he loses his nerves.

Ethan isn't the only one to dread what's he's going to find out.

***

Derek flinches the second he passes the ICU's doors, recoiling from the overwhelming scent of blood and death, as well as the so numerous whimpers of pain his werwolf ears pick up on. He staggers and puts a hand to the wall - forces himself to breath by the mouth until his senses have adapted and dimmed annew.

When the dizzy spell – mostly his instincts flaring in alarm – has passed, he starts walking again. He imagined finding Peter by scent, but in the end, it doesn't look like such a bright idea anymore. Instead, he closes his eyes briefly and concentrates on the well-known rhythm of his lover heartbeat.

He's expecting difficulties to find it in such a loud environnement, but it's, in fact, surprsingly easy. It's like the steady _thump-thump_ jumps to his ears, soothing all other noises away, and for a second, Derek just basks in it.

It calls to him, reminds him of Peter's grin and lazy afternoons passed sprawled on each other, this very beat lulling him into a content state of half-sleep with fingers trailing up and down his spine. When he opens his eyes again – letting the heartbeat slip away, even through he knows he can find it again with no effort at all – he feels surprisingly good. Calmed, deep down.

Remembering these times isn't depressing, far from it. It gives him the strength he needs to face Peter's state now. His lover is still alive, so these moments are just lost. Doesn't mean it can't come back.

***

Derek turns at the corner, already aware that both the surgeon from earlier and a second person – female – are here. He grits his teeth. Seeing the obstinate moron again isn't exactly what he hoped for. Actually, he rather counted on being alone.

But considering this is ICU, his wish probably was stupid. The patients here are all in need of constant treatment and assistance. Of course they're not left on their own. Still, he would have preferred to not see the asshole again.

With a sigh, he steps up to the surgeon and...nurse, apparently, even through all Derek can see is her red - almost orange, really - hair. The two are deep enough in conversation that they don't notice him right away, and he simply seetles again the wall to listen.“...verify intubation and airways every hour for the moment, at last until tomorrow morning”, the surgeon is saying. “And of course, check for fever or any signs of infecton”.

The nurse nods easily. “Of course, sir. Anything else?”. The surgeon shakes his head, looking mostly tired. “No, not yet”. He rubs a hand on the back of his neck. “As long as infection doesn't settle in, we've done all we could at the moment...Frankly, with the extent of the damage, I doubted the man would even hold in surgery. But he did”.

Again, the doctor shakes his head, but this time, ther's almost grudging admiration in it.”Nine hours, and not even one cardiac arrest or respiratory failure. With the state of his lungs, it's a freaking miracle”.

The nurse nods again. “I heard”, she murmurs, and she almost sounds reverent. “More than 90% of the TBSA, right? And severe inhalation injuries. He shouldn't even be alive”. Derek grimaces at that, and he must make some kind of sound, because the surgeon finally spots him.

“Mr Hale”. The man sounds a bit cautious, but mostly scornful. “I take it you calmed down some?”. Derek shows his teeth in an very fake, very unpleasant smile. “I did. Now, what about I get the news I asked for earlier?”. The man's eyes narrow. “Sadly, I am a bit...busy at the moment. But I'm sure the nurse will inform you”.

'The nurse' throws the doctor a rather withering glare, and Derek has an sudden inkling they could actually get along well. And besides, he'll do something stupid if the man stays around, he's sure of it. So he nods brusquely to the surgeon, before dimissing him entierely and turning towards the woman.

He extends a hand. “Pleased to meet you. I'm Derek Hale, Peter's nephew. I would have liked some news about his condition, if you have a bit of time?”. His sudden, unfalling politeness is riling the doctor up, he can feel it even with his back turned. Which is only an incentive to smile harder to the nurse. She seems to get the joke, because she grins back as she takes his hand. “Pleased to meet you as well, Mr Hale. I'm Jennifer. And, yes, of course, I'll gladly give you an update”.

Her eyes slip on the doctor, dissmissive, before she turns back to Derek. “You know”, she adds slyly, “it's surprising no doctor kept you informed”. That's when the surgeon walks off, and if this were any other circumstances, Derek would have very probably burst out of laughing at the crisp, indigned departure. As it is, he simply allows himself a quick grin for a second before turning serious again the second they're alone. “So, how is he, really?”.

The nurse expression shifts to a gravity to match his own. “I won't lie to you, it's not very encouraging”. She sighs. “First of all, there's the issue of the damage his lungs sustained. In fact, the whole respiratory system – throat included – have been severly burned. Add to this the problems caused by smoke inhalation...It's a very dangerous mix. Important lung failure is to expect - we're monitoring it very carefully, even if for the moment, your uncle has proven very resilient”.

Derek barely has the time to take that in that the nurse is already continuing. He doesn't have the courage to ask her for a moment. Better get over the whole thing in one go and think on it later. And preferably alone, considering the certain wolf-out that will follow.

“Then, of course, the burns...They're severe – most of it is fourth degree, and none of it is below the third degree, which means that the three layers of the skin have been burned trough. Excision will probably have to be made on the worse ones”.

Derek isn't exactly sure what 'excision' entails, but right now, he's too busy trying to not either throw up and let despair drown him. Fuck, how did he believe, even for a second, that he was ready for this? He exhales shakily, forcing his attention back on the nurse. He doesn't want to risk missing something important. “...but the main problem isn't so much the burns as the extend of the damage. You probably heard me speaking of TBSA earlier – do you know what it is?”.

Derek manages to choke out something that can pass for a 'no' with a lot of imagination, and that's when the nurse – Jennifer, his mind supplies – seems to remarks Derek's unaturally livid face. “Do you need a moment?”.

Later, much later, when he'll think on it, that's when Derek will pinpoint his first flash of doubt about the woman. In the way her tone doesn't seem gentle or even concerned all of a sudden, but rather impatient and tense, like she can't wait to keep reciting the list of Peter's injuries.

At the moment, through, he's too troubled to notice anything amiss, and he simply gestures for her to continue. Which she does, probably with too much haste – but again, Derek's instincts are all over the place, and he doesn't hear the strange, almost creepy eagerness in the nurse's tone.

“TBSA stands for 'Total Body Surface Area'. We use it to determine the size of a burn. The different parts of the body have different values – legs, for exemple, hold 18% of the TBSA each”. She looks enquiringly at him, like she's expecting him to ask for clarification, but Derek nods. “So when you said 90% of the TBSA...”.

The nurse nods, looking almost impressed by the fact that Derek is actually following. “Yes. Simply put, you uncle is burned, at mostly fouth degree, over 90% of his body”. This time, even in his shocked, weary state, Derek can't miss the strange note of glee that slipped in her tone. He frowns.

“I fail to see how this is good news”, he bites out harshly – maybe too harshly, but he doesn't really care about good manners at the moment. And besides, seeing her looking happy about his lover almost burned to death doesn't make him too willing to be gentle with the woman. Seriously, what the fuck can she be so gleeful about?

The flash of annoyance in the nurse eyes goes unoticed by Derek, and when she answers, her tone is carefully equal. “It's mostly not, of course. Please forgive me, I didn't mean to sound...off. My apologies, Mr Hale. All I meant is that it is a very good thing that he's still alive after all of this. Doctor Mayson was right. It's almost a miracle, really”.

 _Yeah, the miracle of werewolf healing,_ Derek thinks, his burst of anger deflating as quickly as it came. “Okay...so what...”. He stops momentarly, unsure of how to formulate the question. “What can we do?”. The answer, short and to the point, resonates almost brutally in the corridor. “Nothing”. Derek stares. “What do you mean, _nothing_?” he hisses incredulousy. “He needs...”.

The nurse cuts him off, sharp and without a hint of gentleness. “What he needs at the moment is to heal on a basic level”, she retorts coldly. “ The heat has been drawed out, so the burns need to dry – at least, for the third degree ones. And the edema needs to go down, too, before anything else can be done”.

There's a flash of something in her eyes – amusement, mostly, mixed with mayhap a bit of admiration – that Derek fails to notice. “This is going to take time, Mr Hale. Months – years, maybe - of treatements, and then years of physical therapy. And the aftereffects will be very consequent as well – extensive scarring, of course, and...”.

“Okay!”. Derek swallows around the tighness of his throat and repeats, more calmly. “Okay. I get it, no need for more details at the moment”. He shudders. “I think...I think I need a bit of air, actually. Can I...?”. he vaguely jerks a thumb towards the exit, and the nurse nods, looking mostly inconcerned. “Of course. I need to check up on him, anyway”.

Derek nods distantly. Mostly, he's concentrating very hard on not breaking into a wild run, on keeping his pace quick while staying into human levels of speed. It's this slow – at last for him – pace, that gives him the time to turn around for one last question.

“Is my Father aware of this? I mean...did he had a report on Peter's health, too?”.The nurse, a hand on the sas of the room, stops to shurg at him. “I don't know”, she answers.

Somehow Derek isn't surprised.

***

When Derek steps outside the ICU, he thinks about Ethan for maybe three seconds before taking the opposite corridor. He just can't speak to anyone at the moment. He needs...needs to be out, away from the antiseptic smell clinging to the walls, away from the smell of blood and loss. Away from Peter, too, even if it's probably unfair.

He rushes to the stairwell, shouldering a burly male nurse out of the way rather violently, and gets into the narrow space without paying any attention to the man's loud protest. He doesn't even think, teleports on pure instinct instead, even through it's monumentaly stupid because he's been running on empty since he left the pool and he didn't take even an hour of sleep since then.

He barely takes the time to imagine a destination either, much less to fix his mind on it – he just wills to be out and away as strongly and desperately as he can. He vanishes...

...and crashes headfirst on the floor of Peter's home. He slowly gets up on an elbow, dizzy from the impact, feeling so drained he can barely see. Still, he manages to drag himself on his knees before slumping back against the wall, vision blurry with exhaustion – and tears. He realises it when the first sob rips out from his throat, like the last of his resistance breaking into pieces.

And when he sniffs angrily in an attempt to calm down, Peter's scent – his true, pure scent, untouched by pain or burns – hits his nose, and Derek just...flies apart.

He curls up on himself, face buried into his knees, and starts to cry without being able to stop, ragged, stiffled sobs that sound loud as they echo in the silence of the house. He cries until he feels empty and dried out, and when his tears finally stop, he still stays as he is, huddled up in the dark, a small, alone, barely-there shadow against the wall.

***

_Derek appears at the edge of the stairs that lead out of the basement – logically, Peter should have been heading to the exit after his call. The fire isn't as violent as in the second floor – which is normal, considering the basement is mostly where the uncontrolled youngs go on full moons: the ground is paved and the doors made of steel_

_He was counting on it. Both the heat and the fire licking the ceiling's wood beam are mostly berable, if still dangerous for the second_. 

_However, he failed to take into account the fact that the fumes would stay concentrated in the corridor, all the cell's doors being closed. Which is why he chokes and coughs for long minutes before he manages to catch enough of his breath back that he can start moving._

_He makes the – moronic - mistake of putting a hand on the nearest door for support, and snatches it back instantly with a cry of pain. The burn, if stupidly gained, has at least the utility to make his thoughts focus._

_He's here to find Peter, and get out, if possible before the ceiling fall on their heads. The nearest beam cracks alarmigly, as if to urge him up faster, and Derek starts to walk, half-blind from the grey fumes surrounding him. But the corridor isn't that long, so he'll find Peter in the end, he just has to..._

_He inhales a bit too forcefully and goes into another, painful coughing fit, all too aware that each second he passes in the middle of wolfsbane fumes will make him weaker and reduce his ability to focus. Reduce his ability to help Peter when he'll find him. Gritting his teeth, he starts walking again._

_Peter's in here, and Derek's not getting out without him._

***

Derek slowly blinks at the books on the wall. He's feeling completely, almost frighteningly worn out. Not the hypoglycemic kind of exhaustion, but something more profound – something that slithers in his whole body, making him want to just...let go.

He can't do anything for Peter, and anyway what would be the point? It's just one hit after another, and Derek is fucking tired of getting beaten down every other day, thank you very much. And besides, what the fuck should he fight for in the first place? Peter? His lover is at the hospital, probably for years to come, and there's nothing he can do about it.

So, what? Ethan? Derek shrugs to himself. He likes the kid, sure, but to the point of fighting teeth and nails? Yeah, no. And the Pack...well, whatever.

He rakes a hand trough his hair, lets it fall to his nape, and his neck cracks rather alarmingly at the movement. He looks at his watch, surprised to see it's only 5:23 AM. God. The night seems to be dragging forever on purpose. He lets his head fall back with a sigh.

So what? What the fuck can he do anyway, even if he goes back? Play watcher to a man in such a deep coma that he probably isn't in any state to be aware Derek's here? And the bodies...there'll be an investigation, for sure. _So tell me, Mr Hale, why were there about a dozen of dead men in front of your burned down house?_

Or, more to the point, _What exactly did you killed them with? This look suprisingly close to claw marks..._ Fuck. He's getting a headache just thinking about it.

He's debating whether getting up or not when a there's a crack from the wooden floor – nothing strange, since floors are knows to produce strange noises. Humidity in the wood, or something. But more than the surprise, it's the strange familiarity of the noise that attract his attention. For a second, he doesn't get it, and then he remembers.

***

_Derek turns at the angle, and almost falls head first into the blazing inferno in front of him. He rears back with a hiss, sheilding away from the searing wave of heat, stumbling back at safer distance. What the...?_

_With the fumes, it's almost impossible to see, and he barely noticed the sudden change in temperature before marching right into...into what looks like half the ceiling fallen over and burning cheerfully like some kind of gigantic, out-of-control bonfire._

_Fuck. Just what he needed, being cut off from the rest of the corridor. Derek curses – inwardly, because he did learn his lesson about opening his mouth in the place. He could teleport, but...between the pool, the fight, his coming here, and his generally exhausted state, he's already way beyond his limit._

_He's running on fumes – no pun intended – and sheer adrenaline. If he teleports now, he can't be certain he'll have the strength to do it again when he reaches Peter. He can't risk it._

_With a hissed curse bidding every Hunter alive to hell, Derek steps back again, until he has enough distance for a swift run. He can do this. The distance is ridiculously short; just a jump of maybe four, five meters width._

_Piece of cake, really...at least when he doesn't have wolfsbane in his system. Fumes take a lot longer to really impact on abilities, since they're not directly hitting the bloodstream, but still...his dizziness isn't only coming from exhaustion, he's sure of it. But since every second he spends hesitating only worsens his state..._

_Without daring to take a breath, Derek take on the few first meter as quickly as he can, and jumps, putting everything he has in the spring. If he misses... But he doesn't. Even through he distincly feels the painful heat on his face and torso, he manages to hit the ground about half a meter after the last of the flames._

_With a sigh of relief, he reports his attention on the rest of the corridor before him, and panic threatens to engluf him._

_The whole ground is on fire. Well, he can manage a path, more or less, but...there's pieces of buning wood eveywhere, and the heat here is unbearable, making the air shimmer eerily and his vision blurry. And Peter is somewhere in here, since...what? Half an hour, maybe even more. Derek's fists clench so hard that his knukcles go white._

_Dammit, he needs to find his lover, now, before it's too late – before he dies, or before Derek becomes so weak from the poison that he'll be useless. He starts to walk again, trying to be fast and at the same time to take notice of his surroundings – a diffucult task when he can barely see even where his putting his feet in the first place._

_In the end, he doesn't find Peter thanks to his vigilance, but rather because he quite literally stumbles on him – more precisely, he feels his foot catch on something and just manages to not twist his ankle in the awkward fall that follows. And when Derek whirls round to glare at what he expect to be a bit of wood, he sees...a leg._

_His heart leaps in his throat, and he's crawling forward to grab the limb with a speed he didn't think he was still capable of. “Peter”, he calls out, and when there's no reponse, he tugs firmly on his lover's jean, trying to drag him free from the beam he's apparently caught under._

_But his fingers are weak, curling into the denim without strength. Or at least, without enough strength. With a muffled curse, Derek bends down, trying to get a clearer view of the situation._

_Apparently, Peter's left arm is pinned by one of the burning beams – now only a charred, if heavy, remain. His lover probably couldn't get the thing off him with his werewolf abilities sapped away, but Derek can. Well...he hopes so._

_He shrugs off his jacket, put on his arm as a rather pitiful protection, and slips besides Peter under the suffocating, weird dome formed by the beam and the angular rocks of the wall – angles that blocked the wood piece and kept it from falling on Peter's head. Carefully, Derek puts his shoulder against it and pushes it away with all the strength he has left – which is not much, but surprisngly, the wood gives more easily he had reckoned._

_One he's sure that Peter's out of the way, Derek lets the damn thing fall down, too worried to care about stuctural damage. It's a mistake._

_The sound of the beam breaking from the ceiling is sudden and violent – Derek barely has the time to throw himself over Peter out of sheer instinct. Less than a second later, his shoulder shatters in pieces, the burst of pain accompanied by the hot sensation of a burn, searing and unescapable._

_He howls in pain, his vision tuning black for a second, before he shrugs the buning wood away in a violent knee-jerk reaction. The disappearance of the shooting pain gives Derek enough of a reprive that he grabs Peter's arm in a vice-like grip before teleporting away._

_He doesn't have any doubt he'll manage, even it's to kneel over after the effort. Anything to get out from this hell – and, more to the point...anything to get Peter out of there. No matter the cost._

***

Derek closes his eyes. It's true. He was determined to get Peter out, whatever he would suffer for it. And he did – shorter than the usual attack after an overuse of his Gift, so he must have been getting used to it of late, but still, the half-hour long fit hadn't been pleasant by any means. Especially under the pitying – bordering on disgusted for some – eyes of his family.

But it hadn't mattered, not really, because he'd gotten Peter out and alive. It had been the only thing of importance – his own state, his wounds, his weariness...it all had been minor, unremarkable things compared to the fact that Peter's pulse had been beating, right against his fingers - too slow, unsteady, but _here_.

Derek sighs. So, what about now? He cannot do much – not for Peter, not for Ethan, and the Pack...well, he's not that keen on helping them anyway, since letting his lover burn didn't seem be much of a debate for any of them. But if he goes back to the hopital, it'll be to wait, and wait again.

Peter's superior healing may maintain him alive where he should have crashed, but Derek suspects that keeping himself mostly stable is taking everything his lover has left. Even if he heals, it will be the human way, cell by cell, operation after operation, and therapy on the whole way.

And that's if Peter actually wakes up from his coma – because Derek wouldn't be surprised if his uncle had fallen into a deep healing transe. It would make sense, he supposes.

It would make sense...but Derek just can't accept it. Can't stay there, go to college and lessons like it's okay to let Peter suffer for years to come and simply pass by to pat his hand from time to time. Fuck that.

But he can't go either, can't leave Peter alone, not when the smallest wound could kill him – if anybody with killing intent found a way to get close...He just can't. Actually, even getting there was a foolish idea. What the fuck had he been thinking, going away to cry like a moron while Peter was alone in the hospital?

For a second, panic rises up to claw at Derek's throat, making him abruptly get to his feet. He tries and forces himself to be sensitive about it.

The Hunters have suffered much more losses in the end, so they're probably licking their wounds – or, more accurately, mourning their dead somewhere, hopefully in a far away safehouse. Or something close enough. Point is, an assault now, especially with Peter as target, is highly improbable.

And now that he's thinking about it, the Hunters don't know about Peter's Omega status, so it's only natural that they'd believe the whole Pack is ready to stand up for him. So the danger is definitely down. Derek lets out a breath. That's that, at least. But he'll only be fully calmed once he'll be in the ICU's corridor.

He's rolling his shoulders, working out the cramps before teleporting – again. Well, he sure got one hell of a training in the last twelve hours. Peter would probably be very proud, Derek thinks with bitter amusement. He lets his neck fall on the side, and winces at the stiffness. Maybe teleporting so soon too much of a good idea. Too bad he doesn't have a...car...

Derek freezes. Peter didn't take his car to go to the house last evening, he's sure of it. He wanted to have the time to actually get in the place before he was stopped. And if he didn't take the car, then he didn't take his keys either, right? He hesitantly goes to the little table near the bookcase, only to find the car keys laying on the top of a book. Derek's short laughs borders on hysterical, but he still takes the keys before going out.

Just as he expected, Peter's Aston is obediently parked in the back, like it's only waiting for Derek to use it. With a determined nod, he unlock it and gets in the driver's seat. He made an error in leaving earlier; letting his emotions pass before Peter either was both stupid and dangerous.

He cannot afford to be weak, not when he's the olny one his lover can count on. Peter has been heping and protecting him for almost six months, now.

Time for Derek to return the favor.


	29. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the end of Disturbia! It's been a pleasure to write this story, and I thank you all for your support - readers and reviewers alike! I look forward at getting into Arc II, but I can't give you a precise date - by now, you're all very aware of my tragic allergy to schedules^^  
> Ah, and be warned, this epilogue ends on a cliffhanger (see how nice I am, giving you a head up?).
> 
> Enjoy, and tell me what you think!
> 
> Edit: The Scars we earned is up!

“Father”. Derek nods tensely in acknowledgement of the presence of an Alpha, but bypasses the bow he would owe to his own leader. For all he's concerned, James is his father, and Alpha Hale is the leader of a Pack he has no part in anymore.

“Laura”, he adds a bit less frostly as he passes her by. He doesn't wait for an answer, continuing on his way. Finding the whole Hale Pack in front the ICU's door had been a surprise, but in the end it doesn't matter. He just wants to see Peter.

The voice, full of authority, resonates as he's about to push the door and get in. “Derek, wait. We need to talk, without losing time”. _Fuck you_ , Derek retorts internally, before turning around and meeting his Father glare head on. “I fear we don't have the same definition of 'losing time'”, he says acidly.

“I'm going to see Peter – as in, your half-burned to death little brother. Or uncle. Just in case any of you give a shit about the guy who saved your sorry asses. If some of you want to come with me, then they're welcome to tag along”.

He shrugs. “If not, then any disscussion will have to wait until I'm back”. And on that, Derek determinedly walks in the ICU.

He's been walking for about half a minute when he hears the door open – and to recognise John's scent of all people makes him want to hit the kid. He finds his balls _now_ of all times? 

But when the young chokes on the smell of blood and pain and death, stumbling back with a whimper of fear, Derek still finds himself going to him.“Breath by the mouth, it'll pass” he counsels rather tartly. John's eyes briefly met his before he breaks the contact, and Derek feels a vicious surge of satisfation at the show of shame and respect all in one. Aftter all, he more than deserve it.

He gives the kid a few more seconds before his impatience gets the better of him. “Come on, shrug it off”, he hisses, and starts walking again without waiting for him. Maybe it's not very fair, but he's here for Peter, not for John. Hell, if he had knew the kid would take his invitation, he would never have extended it in the first place.

He lets the young catch up before he asks, “So, I suppose you wanted something?”. John cringes, probably from Derek's closed-off face and cold tone, but he still answers – you can say many things about the Hales, but they don't lack courage. 

“I...yes. You said...At the river, I mean. You said that if I ever understood what you did, and the price you payed, I should apologize”.

Derek rises an impressed eyebrow. He would never have pegged the kid to have the necessary maturity for that. “And?”, he asks, eyeing the young all the while. “You think you get it, now?”. He sees John's lips thin and his brow furrow. “I'm not sure”, he finally admits. “Maybe not...not fully”.

Derek resists the urge to take it badly and rebuff him. He needs to be fair – if this was Ethan, he would give him the time to develop his thoughts without interruption. So he simply gesture for John to continue.

“It's...You saved me, and Peter saved us all, and I just don't get why you would do that”. _Yeah, you and me both_ , Derek thinks sourly. Frankly, he half-wishes Peter would have saved himself and let the others manage on their own – after all, the only gratitude he got was to be left to burn. The thought make rage ignite in his chest, and he whirls round on John.“You know what?”, he hisses, “I don't know either”.

“I don't know why I bothered to save your ass, and I don't know why Peter saved you all before himself – because all it brought us is pain and rejection and abandon”. John stumbles back and Derek follows until they're against the wall. He feels beyond furious, all of a sudden.

“Me? Me, it's nothing – I was already half-Omega, I don't care I was thrown out. It doesn't matter. But Peter? Peter _matters_. He matters more to me than all of you hypocrites put together. And right now, he's barely alive – and it's _your fault_ , because you were too much of a bunch of cowards to actually go back for him”.

Derek takes a ragged breath to try and calm down, aware that his eyes are probably too bright and too blue. “So yeah”, he concludes slowly, almost gently. 

“I'd say you owe an apology – not only to me, but most of all to him”. And Derek stalks off, leaving the kid here, before he does something he'll regret.

John has at least the brain to not follow.

***

Derek uses the next fives minutes to calm down as he approaches Peter's room. After a quick glance to his reflection on a window, he steps in the corridor, satisfied of his control – his face is perfectly human.

He's expecting to stumble into Jennifer, so seeing Mrs McCall in front of Peter's door is a surprise. A good one, through. His “hello” makes the nurse turn her head, ans she greets him with a smile. “Mr Hale. Good to see you”. He smiles back, genuinely happy to see her. “Please, it's Derek”.

“Melissa, then”. Her smile dims a little when she tilts her head towards the room. “I suppose you wanted to know how he's doing?”. She asks it like it's an evidence - and Derek appreciates the irony that he has to meet somebody ready to freely give him the information he wants _after_ he fought to have it.

“I got an update already, thanks”. And then he frowns, feeling suddenly worried. “That's it, unless something happened in the last hour or so?”. McCall shakes her head. “No. Still stable”. Derek nods slowly, and hesitates. He came to see Peter – and not in the sense of having news about his health. He really came to see him; he wants to look a him with his own eyes. 

To look at the damage, at what he knows is probably an vision close to nightmare. It terrifies him, but at the same time he needs it – needs the brutal reality of it.

“I'd like to see him”. And, here it is, just as he expected: the flash of pity and doubt in the nurse's eyes. “Mr...I mean, Derek. I'm not sure it's a good idea. It's...rather...”. She hesitates, but still ends with determination. “I think it'll be an unecessary shock”. Derek forces himself not to balk at the insinuation he can't handle it; after all, it may very well turn out to be true. 

Instead, he nods, acknowledging the point. 'I know”. He looks at the nurse, eye-to-eye. “I'm aware of that. But I...I want to see him”. McCall bites her lip, visibly unsure, and Derek presses the only way he can. “Melissa, please”. He doesn't try to hide the pleading note in his voice.

She seems to balance for a few more seconds before she looks at him, eyes serious. “Are you sure it's what you want? You don't have to”. Derek looks back , expression equally solemn. “I know. But I want to”.

“Very well. You'll only be able to watch from the sas, through”, she adds with a apologetic grimace. “Only medical staff can get in the room”. While speaking, she started walking to door, but she pauses with a hand on the handle. 

“It's going to be a shock, no matter what I say, but...still, allow to tell you about what you're going to see”. Derek nods vaguely to show his attention, eyes staring at the door like he can burn a hole through it. He hears the nurse sighs. “He's intubated – directly by the throat, since we needed to be able to treat the burns on his face freely. Light, antiseptic gauze has been applied to the wounds, so most of it is hidden, but it's still...”. 

She takes a breath, like she's not sure what to say, before she suddenly takes his hand, forcing Derek's attention away from the door. “Derek”, she says, gently but pressingly, earnestly. “You don't need to see that, truly. And from the EMT's report, I believe you were the one to find him, so you certainly already saw...”. 

“I...”, Derek starts, and then he closes his eyes briefly. “I wasn't paying attention, not really”, he admits. “I was just...thinking of getting him out, and once we were out, I had...a...vertigo, because of the smoke inhalation”, he finishes after a moment, using the very words of the medic. “So I didn't see”. He turns to the nurse, expression suddenly hard, steel in his voice.

“And that's why I need to see him now”.

***

Derek presses his brow to the cool glass, eyes firmly shut. He doesn't need to have them open, anyway – the image is etched in his very brain, floating before his closed eyelids.

The man – Peter, even if a part of him denies it desperately – barely recognizable, bandages twisting all over his body like some kind of mockery of a mummy. The few patches of skin left unbrurned leaving no doubts about the edema, anrgily, almost grotesquely swelled up.

The horrible wheeze of his breath, easily reaching Derek's werewolf ears, sounding like he could stop breathing any second...

And the smell. God, the smell. Burned flesh and melted bones and wolfsbane and antiseptic, all tangled together into a horrible mix, making him nauseous, barely an hair's breath from trowing up.

Instead, he had closed his eyes, trying to escape the nightmare in font of him – to no avail. He stills see it in his head, still smells it...And, even worse, he still _hears_ – the rasping, almost hypnotic hitches into his lover's breathing. He's not sure when he started counting them. It's like it can somehow prevent Peter's lungs from falling.

Like if he's here, he can force Peter to stay alive and be better by his mere, small presence.

His own breath catches, and Derek grits his teeth – no tears, no now. Not anymore. He can laugh hysterically, kill Hunters to feel better, but not that. No tears. Because if he starts, he's not sure he'll be able to stop, this time.

If Mc Call noticed anything, she doesn't comment – doesn't say 'I told you so', or anything in the same vein. She doesn't try to pull Derek away, either, just wait patiently for him to decide to move by himself. He finally does, slowly, turning away and stepping back in the corridor, shoulders hunched, feeling more beaten up than he ever did after an actual fight for his life.

“I'll go fetch you something warm to drink”, the nurse murmurs, placing a hand on his arm briefly before hurrying off. Derek suspects it has more to do with letting him freak out in peace – and he's touched by the woman's thoughtfulness, even if he has no intention of crying or blowing off in any way.

He simply rubs at his eyes, trying to chase away his weariness. Crying or melting down won't help Peter – what Derek needs is a plan. An idea. Somewhere to begin, anything. He won't just stand aside and play moral support. No chance in hell. H'll find something, he will. But right now, he's just coming up with a perfect blank. Derek racks a hand through his hair, frustrated. If he could, he'd shake himself like a plum tree. 

Come on, there has to be something he can do. He...His reflection comes to a suddenly, disbelieving stop when a new, familiar scent hits his nose. _Oh, no_ , Derek thinks fiercely. _No, he didn't fucking dare...But of course he did. The son of a bitch_. “Twenty minutes”, Derek articulates from behind a clenched jaw. “Couldn't you just wait twenty minutes?” He's almost suffocating with the urge to hit the man in front of him, not that the other seems to care. 

But when did James Hale ever care about anything except his own, selfish person and his perfect Pack?

His Father eyes narrow, and he actually has the gall to look mildly offended when he retorts, “John came back on the verge of tears. I was worried you'd lose control”. A flash of disgust passes in the grey eyes. “Again”.

 _Fuck you_ , Derek thinks, and because they're alone and he's so furious he could attack the Alpha, he repeats it out loud, voice shaky with rage. “ _Fuck you!_ I thought he was dead, that I had lost the last member of my family – the only one I still love!”.

He's expecting at least a flinch at that, but James doesn't even blink, and Derek feels a disgusted smile strech his lips.

“So I freaked out because I was hurting, and maybe it's a weakness to you...But what does it say about you that you're so collected? Does it even touches you?”. Derek stalks to the sas' door and throws it open. “Look at him – at what you've done. You don't care, do you? He saved you all, did what you couldn't...And you don't give a shit, because he's not one of your own. Because you decided he wasn't worth it.”

Derek closes the door again, fighting the urge to slam it. “Maybe my control is frail – and probably, you find that pathetic. But I rather be pathetic and care than to be like _you_ ”. Derek steps forwards until he's eye to eye with James, with an Alpha – but to hell with that.

“You're so cold, so...full of yourself. Always right, always sure. Do you feel so superior? With your status and your...Pack, purged of any...dangerous elements?”. Derek lets out a savage laugh. “Fuck you. Just..fuck you”. He turns away, back to staring at Peter's room door.

There's a heavy silence for a minute, before James voice resonates, still calm enough to make Derek want to rip him into pieces. “Are you done?”.

Derek grins, hard – it could be a smile if it didn't show so much teeth. “Not even close” he retorts scathingly. “But the nurse's coming back soon, so I suppose I need to cut it out”. But in the end, he can't help the urge to lash out one last time, and he adds with a burning irony, “Feel free to ask for a report on you little brother's health, by the way”. This time, James snarls, visibly reaching the end of his patience.

Good. Derek wants to shatter him, painfully and messily – right now, the Alpha is a perfect target for all of Derek's pent-up grief and raging feeling of impuissance. But before he can keep goading him, James moves, Alpha-quick and inescapable.

Derek only has the time time to futilely rear back before his Father's hand has closed on his throat. “I am not here to fight”, James states calmly, just a hint of the Alpha voice in his tone. “But if that's what it take for you to listen to me, I will”.

The hand squeezes lightly – not yet cutting off his air, but more than enough to back up the threat. It's Derek's turn to snarl, wild and enraged, ready to fight even through he knows it only will lead to his defeat. He won't sumbit, won't bow to an Alpha. Never again.

He payed too much to be where he is now – an Omega, and a Gifted, and unashamed of both. Saving John had been the start of some kind of Butterfly Effect, a single drop creating ripples that kept getting stronger and stronger, until it turned into an inescapable tidal wave. 

Well, the wave has passed, now. Derek has picked himself up, or at the very least he's on his knees. He's not going to lie back down. 

He grabs James' wrist, too long nails digging into skin, vice-like and merciless. In itself, the move is utterly unhelpful – if you could get out of an Alpha's grip by clawing at their wrist, it'd be known. But the opposition conveys Derek's point perfectly: he won't go down without a fight. 

It's probably not the smartest thing to do, he knows. If Peter was here, he would certainly roll his eyes and tell Derek that he's the worst strategist to have ever walked the earth. But thing is, Derek's aware of that. He's not stupid. He has wit, he can think on his feet...but he's not devious. 

Not sly enough to try and play his Father, to lay low and subit for a while in order to obtain what he want. Maybe – certainly – it's a weakness. And it's dangerous, if not for him, then for Peter, to antagonize an Alpha that way. 

But he can't help it. It's who he is – he fights and rolls with the hits and he endures. But he's no good at patience and cunning, or back-stabbing. 

And yet...this is for Peter. If his lover could swallow his pride for Derek's sake, can't he do the same? Can't he at least try? Derek bites his tongue, hard. Submitting now goes against everything he believes in, everything he is. 

But this is Peter. Peter, who matters so much more than him. If the price for helping him is to side with the Hales...Derek can live with that. 

Slowly, rage boilling in his stomach, he lets go of his death-grip. He's not looking at James, his eyes firmly fixed on the door of Peter's room. It's for him, he needs to remember that. It's all for him. As long as Peter needs him, Derek will be here, no matter the price for himself. 

James frowns at the sudden sumbission. Derek looked like he would have gladly ripped his face off earlier, and now, all of a sudden...The Alpha follows his son's look, only to fall on Peter's room. His eyebrows rise. He hadn't realised that these two were that close. 

Having Derek back down from anything is a right challenge even on the best days – _just like you_ , Thalia had commented with amusement as he'd complained. But, James muses, it seems that Derek has quite the weak point in Peter. 

But better not to push right now. He needs his son's cooperation at the moment, not more antagonism. He releases his hold as well and steps back. He's expecting Derek to stumble away from him in fear, maybe even to press a hand to his throat... 

Instead, the young wolf rises his head, chin held high, without trying to hide the light bruising around his neck in any way. There's a hard, unyielding glint in his eyes – rage and pride and defiance, a wild mix that tells James clearly that, for all his show of submission earlier, Derek isn't cowed in the last. 

He may bow for Peter's sake, but he's not bowing to James, and the Alpha can't help a feeling of grudging respect. He had never realized his son could be so... _strong_ , for lack of a better word. He'd spent the last years seeing him beaten again and again in spars by Laura – and disappearing to run in the forest on his own in-between. 

In the end, James barely knows his son. And what little he thought he knew had been shattered in pieces by this iron-willed, untamed stranger with Derek's face. For the first time, James begins to understand what Peter meant when he told him, once, that he was an idiot to give up on Derek, and chose David instead. 

For the first time, he wonders if his brother wasn't right. 

*** 

They're in one of the tiny reunion rooms in the hospital – McCall had lead them here after James had asked if there was anywhere they could have a quick family reunion. She had blinked, visibly not expecting this kind of demand, but had finally nodded. 

Derek plays with his now-cold coffee, courtesy of the nurse earlier. He had thanked her sincerely and given her his cell number, asking her to call at any time if Peter's status changed. After a quick glance to James' uninterested, already departing back, she had agreed. 

So here he is, at seven in the morning, sitting on a chair and nursing his cold drink, looking calmly at three quarters of his family across a large table. He's not sure if the goal is to impress him, but in any cases, it's not working. Seeing them stuffed against each others like sardines in a can is rather hilarous, actually. 

Trying to keep his face blank – and from David's glare, falling miserably – Derek carefully stays silent. Partly because he's not sure he won't start laughing the second he opens his mouth, and partly because he's certain he can win the silent game currently going on. 

He _did_ spend most of his teen years on his own, after all. 

And just like he expected, James cracks first – and isn't it a nice feeling, to get the upper hand back even for only a few seconds. “Very well, since we're all here...” he starts, and Derek bites down on his laughter. Yes, they're all here, indeed. He almost has half the room for himself. 

Almost, because Ethan had stepped to his side the second he could, followed by – and Derek had risen a disbelieving eyebrow at that – John. The fuck? The kid has refused to met his eye, keeping his head down but holding his ground all the same, and Derek had decided to let it go. 

Let the kid do whatever the he wanted. He had more important concerns. Still has, like James, who didn't stop speaking. Derek forces himself to concentrate. _Come on, focus_ , he berates himself. _You didn't do all of this to fuck up now._

“...agree on our story. I was contacted by one of the Sheriff's deputy – a man named Stilinski – who asked us to testify. Of course, I told him we were all a bit in shock, with the fire and one of us critically burned, and he was very understanding”. 

Derek frowns at that. He's surprised that the man would be so sympathic with the number of bodies the police most certainly found in front of the house. It's not exactly working in their favor, especially considering half of the kills probably look like they've been mangled by a wild animal. 

“Hang on”, Derek interrupts swiftly. He doesn't hesitate to break in – if they wanted him to shut up, they shouldn't have dragged him here. “What about the bodies? How come the police didn't find them?”. David throws him a death glare that Derek holds stubbornly. Since he's here, he very much intends to dig up everything he can – the more clearly he see the situation the better he can adapt if (when) necessary. 

“The Callens took care of that”, Thalia cuts in, and Derek nods like it's perfectly natural, while inwardly wondering how the fuck James has been able to convince Logan to accept to put himself into this mess. There's certainly have been serious blackmail involved, because no sane Alpha would risk throwing his Pack in an open conflit with Hunters. Especially of the Argent variety. But now that Derek's thinking about it, maybe the Callens aren't aware of this last detail. 

Which may be interesting to know for him in the future, but doesn't help him overmuch at the moment. Frankly, he doesn't really care what kind of sob story they all reach agreement upon, as long as it doesn't put Peter at risk. 

With a sigh, he lies back on his chair, listening with one ear only, while trying to think. The thing with the Callens could be good – very good, even, if he can use it. 

Derek believes that the blackmail his Father used is rather evident: probably the Gifted's presence in Logan's Pack, not to mention with a Second status. Somehow he doesn't think the Callen Alpha would like this little piece of information to go around. 

But having blackmail material is useless if you don't know what to do with it, he concludes with a grimace. He needs...”Derek? Do you agree, then?”. Derek's attention snaps to Laura, and he quickly rewinds the conversation in his head. 

They had been in the cellar, searching for old grabage to throw out, and none of them had been aware of the fire spreading before it was almost to late. They all panicked, gotten up to first level and out, without really paying attention to anybody else than the closest persons running around. 

It's only once they all had gathered outside that they'd noticed Peter's absence, and the blaze had been so dangerous at this point than none of them had dared to try to go back. 

Derek's about to shrug and retorts that, yeah, why not, when James extends a hand to squeeze Thalia's shoulder, and every thought flies from Derek's head. He stares at his Father's wrist. His Father's wrist, all smooth, unmarked skin. 

Like on autopilot, his fingers get up to trace the bruises at his throat – still here after one hour, because they were Alpha-inflicted. He swallows. The idea forming in his head is crazy, utterly crazy, and terribly dangerous. 

Derek grins, and gets up. 

“Go ahead, I agree”. He gestures vaguely to them all as he steps to the door. “Happy we sorted that out. I especially like the last part – probably the most truthful. But, you know, whatever works. I'm not pricky”. He waves a salute on his way out, already focused on something else. 

He'll need Peter's library, and probably a hand from Deaton, too, which will be less easier to obtain. But whatever, he'll cross that brige when he'll get here. For now, only one thing matters. 

He finally, finally has a plan. 

***End of Arc I*** 

**Author's Note:**

> So, what do you think? Criticize away!


End file.
